


Get to Me

by IBrokeBad



Category: Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Angst, Crossover, Crowley is a dick, Demon Dean Winchester, Desperate Sam Winchester, Eventual Shower Sex, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Love Triangles, No Humanity Elena Gilbert, Overly complex characters, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-08
Updated: 2018-05-08
Packaged: 2019-05-04 02:58:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 61,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14583444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBrokeBad/pseuds/IBrokeBad
Summary: Upon making a deal with a humanity-less Elena to help free Dean from Crowley's hold, Sam unwittingly sets Dean and Elena on a vicious game of cat and mouse that can only end in one killing the other. Will someone quit before blood is spilt? Or will Sam be left with someone to bury?





	1. Part One: Come Back to Me

**Little Heaven, Delaware**   
**Present**   
**__**

The back of the undersized chair digs into Sam's back. Armrests frame his hips, obviously built to accommodate a much smaller person. White walls cause his eyes to feel strained. He taps his index finger against the empty table in front of him at a forceful, aggressive pace.

He hears the persistant tick of the clock as it chirps on the wall opposite him, and he resists the urge to smash the much too small chair into its face.

The door swings open and Zadkiel - a doll-like angel with soft, violet eyes - enters. A rush of potent lavender invades Sam's nose and he winces. Zadkiel is silent as he sits down across from Sam, unhurried and oblivious to his radiating agitation. There is a long pause.

Sam crosses his arms over his chest, "Look, can we just get this over with?"

The angel folds his hands onto the table, forcing more lavender air Sam's way, "Well, Sam, where would you like to begin?" He brings his gaze to meet Sam's, a warm neutrality eminating from him.

Sam sighs, twisting a hand through his hair before pressing it back into his crossed arms. The warmth hasn't quite breached the neurotic buzz of his energy. "Okay, so it all started with this rumor-"

"Wait!" The angel says, holding up a finger and bending down to reach into his bag. After an annoyingly long moment of ruffling and clattering, he unbends and emerges with a notepad and pen.

"Seriously?" Sam asks with a purse of his lips.

"Continue," he poises the pen to paper. His blonde hair looks annoyingly at peace despite his vigorous rumaging.

Just short of leaping across the table and shaking the angel violently by the shoulders, Sam clears his throat. "So there was this rumor going around about this demon killer. She supposedly had some fight with Cr-"

"So it's a woman? This killer is a woman?"

Sam nods hastily, "She supposedly had some kind of issue with Crowley."

"The King of Hell." The pen scratches at the paper.

"Yeah," Sam says. His fingers twist and wring together, the friction and pressure heating his fingers. "I'd been trying to track Crowley for weeks but every place I went I came across a giant demon wipe-out." Sam breathes out a laugh, "Like someone always got to them just before I did."

The pen freezes, "They were all killed?"

Sam nods.

The angel's eyebrows knit together. "Is it possible that she was working with someone else?"

"It was," Sam says, a small, straight-lipped smile pulling at his lips. "But I questioned everyone that would hear me. They all said she was alone. And after I met her I don't doubt it."

"Even if all this is true, it sounds like a lot of trouble to go through for a bunch of Demons."

"It isn't if you have the right kind of . . . motivation. In this case it was the self-preservation kind. She wasn't a hunter like I thought she was," Sam draws his arms around himself more tightly, "So I asked around about her."

"And you found her?"

"I didn't get a name. Just two locations that I'd be likely to find her at. One was a bar just off the interstate and the other was a diner just outside of Richmond."

The angel stops writing, then says, "I should probably ask why you felt the need to seek her out."

Sam takes a deep breath, eyes meeting his, "For the same reason I'm here talking to you."

"Ah," he says, tone careful.

Sam nods softly, fatigue shutting his eyes. He opens them again with a laugh, "He's the only reason I do anything anymore. How unhealthy is that?"

The angel scribbles something down. "Can you tell me about him?"

Sam smiles, "He's a good brother . . . All I wanted was for him to come back to me." His smile shrinks. "But everything turned into this giant mess."

The angel nods. "That's what I'm here for, Sam. To help you." He glances at his notes, then asks, "So I'm guessing you eventually found this 'hunter'?"

"I did."

Zadkiel lifts an eyebrow, "And was she all everyone said she was?"

Humor sparks in Sam's eyes as he suddenly laughs, shoulders shaking. For the first time his grin meets his eyes. "No. Not at all."

**___**

**Richmond, Virginia**   
**Two Years Ago**   
**2 AM**   
**___**

Sam waits outside Dalia's Diner for the fifth time, standing just outside the window with a beer in hand. Every now and then he glances in. Based on what he's heard he wouldn't be surprised if this woman is eight feet tall with muscles to match.

Today the diner consists of exactly one elderly man, a little girl and her father, and two waitresses. Both of which he'd ruled out immediately since one was likely over sixty and the other spent the majority of her work hours picking at her nails.

Sam splashes out another quarter of his beer as the last of the customers file out, his sunken eyes studying each of them with what seems like his last burst of hope.

As a few of the men glance back at him suspiciously, he takes a quick swig of his beer, not letting the liquid spill past his lips.

Their glances don't last more than a split second, and they stagger on, their thick feet scraping against the pavement. One of them with a bloody face spits out a couple of curses, followed by, "Bitch is crazy-"

Sam's ears perk up. A bitch sounds like just what he's looking for. Curious as to why he hadn't noticed any signs of commotion in his hours of surveillance, he peers into the diner and finds it empty. As the voices of the disgruntled men grow more distant, Sam grows more frustrated when nothing in the diner stirs.

He's about to chuck his beer across the parking lot when he sees the kitchen lights flick off. Cold air touches his face and chills scatter across his skin. The two waitresses emerge from the kitchen, followed by three others, two men and one woman. Most likely the cooks. They each sport stained aprons.

Sam's eyes instantly zero in on the woman, who has already seperated herself from the pack.

Dark hair and dark eyes jump out at him, and one vibrant red streak sits against her curls. He leans on the cold brick wall as the workers say their goodbyes. The woman stays silent, not once glancing back at the others. The diner light goes out and the five exit into the parking lot. Sam backs into the shadow of the building, watching her carefully.

The sound of car doors snapping shut and engines yawning awake fills the midnight air as the woman remains in the middle of the lot, patting her pockets for her keys. Flour wisps off of her apron when a breeze skitters across the fabric. Sam hesitates. This might just be an innocent woman. The person he's looking for wouldn't stand in a diner kitchen flipping pancakes all night. That just doesn't make sense.

But then he sees her hand. Inch by inch it retreats from her pocket clutching a set of keys. And on her fingers are blotches of red.

The man's bloodied face from earlier reemerges in Sam's mind and his heart leaps.

Suddenly blinding tail lights create a glowing spotlight around the woman's silhouette as cars roll out of the parking lot. Sam squints, blocking the blinding light with his hand. It's only when the lights fade into the distance that he sees that she's staring at him with icy eyes. The hairs on the back of his neck rise. This is the girl that's been causing Crowley so much trouble.

"He's never sent me a cripple before," she says, her words cascading towards him from across the lot. The flat sound of her voice reaches him, and sends a frigid bite up his spine.

Sam clears his throat, "I wouldn't call myself a cripple."

Her eyes slither down to the sling supporting his sprained elbow, then back to his face, "You can tell Crowley to stop wasting his demons on me. Obviously he's scraping at the bottom of the barrel if he sent you."

"I wasn't in his barrel-" Sam pauses with discomfort and inwardly cringes, his jaw working. "I mean, he didn't send me."

"Then good night," she says with a little salute.

"Wait," he steps forward, closing in on her. He raises his hand to take her arm but stops halfway, dropping the hand back to his side. "Tell me what the deal is between you and Crowley."

She stills, but doesn't look the least bit interested in humoring him, "Last I checked that business was between me and him."

Sam's fingers contract around the beer bottle and he forces out an irritated breath. "I need your help. I know that you're into ridding the world of demons and stuff so maybe you and I could-"

She snorts, "Rid the world of demons? Where'd you hear that fairy tale?"

Sam pauses. "Well, I was told that you're taking out his henchmen. It just seemed like you had it out for demons."

She laughs, the sound ringing false in the early morning air. She takes a few steps so she's standing directly in front of him, close enough that he needs to angle his head down to look at her. Sam smells vanilla and cinnamon as his eyes track the lift of her chin as she looks up at him.

"Hot, tall, yet crippled, man comes to me at-" she checks her watch, "-two in the morning to accuse me of trying to save the world. I guess I can't complain." She's too close now. Close enough to be distracting.

He swallows. "Is this what you do?" His words come out quietly. "Use your body to manipulate people?"

One corner of her mouth tilts upward. "Maybe. If there was something I wanted enough."

Sam licks his lips, "Why are you killing demons if not to save people?"

She shrugs, her feet stepping away from him and towards her car. She takes his air with her. "Why don't you let me know when you find out, big guy? I have a bed to get to." She reaches her car and wrenches the door open.

"Hey!" Sam stalks to the passenger side, throwing the door open. They climb into the car at the same time and the doors simultaneously click shut. A tightness envelopes them. Silence rings as she glares at him and he offers her a stern look in return.

"Listen," she says, her voice sliding through the air, somehow making it colder. "You should know before you get a little too comfortable that I have no problem killing you and leaving your ass in this parking lot."

If there is anything frightening about her - her dead eyes, her striking face, or the way she makes everything around her stand still - Sam slaps it away. "I need your help. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't desperate." At her look of continued boredom, Sam grinds his teeth. "Okay, what do you want, huh? For me to beg?"

She groans, rolling her eyes. "Spare me."

Sam leans forward, searching her face for anything. Any indication of what she might be thinking. But she doesn't even acknowledge him. She flicks on the radio, getting white noise until the sound focuses in on a woman singing about happier days. Sam huffs. Deciding on a different tactic, he asks, "Why'd you attack that man?"

"'Cause he was annoying. Speaking of . . ." she says, tilting her head to look at him, "Your butt's still in my car."

"Because I'm not done talking to you." Sam says with force. These last few days of tracking his brother has him on edge. More so than before. Dean slips further and further away the longer he sits here trying to convince this woman to help him. And he wouldn't even have to resort to this if it weren't for his stupid arm injury.

The woman makes a tired face. "Look, I'm bored. That's the only reason you're still alive right now. So if the next words out of your cute little mouth aren't the most amazing things I've ever heard, then your head's coming off."

"I'll help you kill Crowley," Sam says. When she doesn't make any move to seperate his head from his body, he continues, "All I'm saying is we have a mutual enemy. I'm looking to go around Crowley and you're looking to get him off your back. I will personally see to it that he is off of your back forever as long as you help me."

She pauses, regarding him slowly. "How would you do that? You have one usable arm."

"I know Crowley. I know his strengths and I know his weaknesses better than any living person."

She leans back. "You're bluffing."

"Maybe I am." He says, looking out the windshield. It's almost pitch black outside except for a single lamp hanging above them. The darkness follows them in through the windows, blanketing them in shadows. All he sees of her face is the light reflecting off her cheekbones and the white framing her irises. Sam stares directly into them. "But I know for a fact you don't want Crowley two steps behind you the rest of your life. And you know he's capable of it. Would you really pass up the chance to get rid of him?"

There is another pause as she sighs. "God, what are you, a lawyer?"

Sam lets out a breathy laugh, "I went to law school."

He feels her eyes on him for a long moment. The radio scratches on, the woman's voice deepening, growing sadder and sadder.

"Fine. I'll help you," she says. The coldness of her tone cuts through the music.

A breath of relief leaves him, and a small smile curves his lips appears. "Thank you."

"What's your brother's name?"

"Dean. Winchester."

"I'll do some homework. Meet me back here Sunday morning. I'll be in the kitchen with information."

"Again. Thank you," Sam says.

Elena rolls her eyes. "Yeah okay. You can get out of my car now."

Sam can't stop the smile from growing on his lips. "I have to ask," he ventures, "Why here? Why a diner?"

She turns to look at him steadily, one brow lifted as if his question had only one answer. "Because I like pancakes."

Sam laughs, the pressure inside him lessening just a tiny bit. "Fair enough." He risks another question, "What do I call you?"

She reaches across him, and tugs at the door handle, unlatching it. The door pops open. "Elena. Now get out, I need my beauty sleep."

Not wanting to try her patience any more, Sam climbs out. Without looking back, Elena drives away. And as he watches her go, he swears he sees her smile in the mirror.

___

He's at Dalia's two days later, sitting in a corner booth with a plate of salad in front of him. He pokes at a soggy crouton with his fork, silently questioning its quality.

"Salad for breakfast?" Elena's voice says from behind him. He turns in surprise, his fork scraping loudly against the plate, and finds her staring directly at him. Chestnut and honey. Her face is absent of any humor that might have been present in her voice just a few seconds ago.

"It's the healthiest thing on the menu." He drops the fork.

She raises her eyebrow, then slides in next to him. As soon as she settles in, he waits expectantly, assuming that the figurative talking stick has been passed to her. His neck cracks at the awkwardness of the angle.

But she remains silent, her legs crossed into a lazy twist. Her blank stare swings from their mundane surroundings to Sam, then latches onto his face without a word.

When they are at risk of competing in the world's most uncomfortable staring contest, he clears his throat, "So, uh, do you want to eat something?" He rips his eyes away and busies himself by stabbing at his salad. The loud crunch of lettuce in his head is a good enough distraction from her unrelenting stare.

Her lips finally seperate and she asks, "Are you offering?" Her eyes darken, and she grins, exposing sharp canines.

Sam nearly swallows an entire cherry tomato. When he recovers, he glances at her, mentally cancelling his tests he had planned to find out exactly what she is. The silver blade in his bag is just extra weight now. "Oh, uh, well I-"

Elena ignores his blubbering and stops a passing waitress by pressing a hand to her arm. "I'll have three pancakes and a milkshake. Make it fast."

"I'll do what I can," the waitress says before rushing back to the kitchen.

"So your brother's been hiding out in Detroit. I tracked some of Crowley's guys down there. He isn't doing much aside from the odd job for the boss every now and then."

"How is he?" Sam's eyebrows knit together.

Elena shrugs. "About as bad as you'd expect."

"I hope not."

Her eyes settle on him, unwavering. "It is."

He feels his mouth turn downwards and his eyes freeze on her just as the waitress returns with a plate of pancakes, flour dusting the tip of her nose and a fresh milkshake balanced in her other hand. She sets it down in front of Elena and says, "Enjoy your meal, ma'am," with a sweet smile. She retreats back into the kitchen.

Sam tilts his head as Elena grips the small pitcher of syrup and pours a thick stream onto her pancakes. He studies her face, curious, as she continues to pour with no sign of stopping.

"That's a lot of sugar," he hears himself say. He immediately clamps his mouth shut. That was a stupid thing to say.

She still doesn't put down the syrup. "You think I should be worried about diabetes?"

There it is again. A wit that isn't sharp, or biting or light or condescending. In fact, it isn't anything. She's just an echo of what her past personality had been before something reached in and hollowed her out. Sam wonders what that might have been.

He clears his throat and laughs, "No, I guess not."

Her unapologetic eyes scan his face. "I have some pictures."

"Oh, you mean-"

She puts the syrup down, pulls out a thick stack of paper and slaps them onto the table in front of him. "Can't say that I see the resemblance," she says as she turns her attention back to her pancakes.

As soon as Sam looks at the first photo, a deep, unsettling feeling of grief hits him like a slow knife to the heart. The sounds around him suddenly mute, and all that's left is the image of his brother. Dean's face is completely relaxed aside from his eyes, which squint skyward as sunlight beams down. He leans against a balcony railing, his elbow perched atop the sleek metal. Sam flips to the next photo.

This one hurts just a little bit more.

Dean's eyes are wide open this time as he smiles. He's talking to a young woman, probably Elena's age, with silver hair down to the backs of her knees. The smile stretches across his face like a warning, and doesn't quite touch his eyes. The knife twists.

The photo bends in Sam's fingers as he stares at it in silence. The sad shadow of where Dean was once hides in that smile, and he's replaced by a monster.

"He's working people," Elena pulls him back. "Those last few pictures I got from a job he did a couple miles from the city."

"So he's . . . a crossroads demon?"

"No," she says, folding a pancake in half and taking a bite. "He just follows through on some deals." She glances at Sam as he stares down at the picture. "That girl is one of his favorites."

"Huh?" Sam looks up, finding Elena looking at him with a look of boredom.

"That girl," she says again, "She's the one he seemed to like the most. He has a lot of lady friends. Which is why I suggest we bait him."

"You mean-"

"A girl. He has a big soft spot for a damsel in distress. It'd almost be sweet if he didn't always sleep with them after the whole knight in shining armor routine. Honestly, it makes me want to puke."

"Why not just grab him when he's alone?" Sam suggests. "I mean with your help it'll be easy enough."

She shakes her head. "He's not in the right mindset." At his look of skepticism she continues, "Look, if you want to kill him, sure just grab him off the street and do the deed. But if you're planning on turning him back into a human, he needs to come to us."

Sam lets out a breath. He hates that she's making sense right now. She has a surprising amount of insight for such an insensitive person. He frowns, "Right. So I'm guessing you're the damsel in our plan."

She nods. "I bait him, trap him, and get your little ritual started."

"Okay," Sam says. He almost strains his brain trying to think of her as a damsel in distress. Deciding to think through that impossibilty later, he goes on, "That all sounds great, but where do I come in?"

"You don't." Her clipped tone is completely serious.

Ah. There's the other snag. Sam begins to protest, "Elena--"

"He can't see you. It's not a good idea. Not now anyway." She takes a long sip of her milkshake. The straw creases between her lips.

"I can't just stand by!" His voice is a little too loud now and people are turning their heads to look at them.

Elena ignores them, and speaks clearly and softly. "You're a reminder of who he used to be. And judging by where he's at right now he'll do anything not to be reminded."

"You think he'll hurt me?"

She shrugs, "Maybe. He'd probably even kill you if he's anything like me. That's what I'd have done."

Sam's eyebrows lower and he says, "I don't think he's like you at all."

At that Elena smiles in that annoying way, as if she thinks he's adorable. "Well, then I guess you're safe."

Sam studies her as she eats, her words burrowing in his brain like a cyst. Dean could hurt him. Sam knows that. But how far would he go? Elena didn't even hesitate in saying she would kill. He wonders if she already did. Maybe some time ago, before he even met her, someone loved her and tried to get her back, like Sam is with Dean. Maybe she couldn't take the reminder.

Her hands are steady on her knife as she cuts through another pancake. The image the knife slicing through his own throat flashes in Sam's head. She's just stare at him with that beautiful smile and watch him die without even flinching--

"Well?" Elena asks as she chews, interrupting his thoughts. "Is it a plan or what?"

"Yeah," Sam says, eyes still on the the knife. "Right. It's a plan."

 


	2. As You Wish

Sam's phone buzzes in his jacket pocket as he gets slammed into a soda dispenser. He curses, his sprained elbow jutting into the ice button. Cold chunks clack onto the floor as Sam's attacker takes advantage of his injury and jams it harder.

Sam grunts, knocking his free fist into the demon's nose.

He recoils, clutching his bleeding face and Sam leaps for his knife on the floor. The phone buzzes again as Sam plunges the knife into the demon's heart. He's down in seconds.

The phone buzzes again.

Sam digs into his pocket and pulls it out. He's still out of breath when he answers, "Hello?"

"Dean's headed for Miami."

"What?"

Elena sighs. "Did you really not hear me or do you not understand where Miami is--"

"Shit. Well, there goes our plan." Sam says resting against the wall and wiping sweat from his forehead.

He and Elena have only met twice over the past few days and have been communicating mostly by phone. Their conversations usually consist of intense arguments that cause anyone listening to be concerned that one might murder the other. When they weren't arguing conversations were short, concise, and almost enjoyable. He might've even grown used to her off-kilter personality.

"It's fine," Elena says. "We just need to follow them and re-establish his routine."

"That'll take too long, Elena. I'm not interested in a long con here. We need to get to him as soon as possible. His soul is at stake. His humanity. That means something to me."

There's no way she misses the accusation, but she doesn't retaliate. Instead she says, "Look Sam, you asked for my help for a reason."

Sam expects an explanation now, or perhaps some sort of defense of her skill as a hunter, but she offers him none. She lets the words just sit there in his brain without anything to cushion them. They start to feel like a finger pointing to the guilty suspect. He's the one that brought her to this moment. He's the one that took her from her life of running and dropped her in the center of the offensive line.

"Elena," he says slowly. "Can I ask you a question?"

An exhale. "What?"

"How far gone is he?"

"He hasn't killed anyone yet," she says. "And he doesn't seem to do anything unless it benefits him. But he likes giving a good beating. He likes it a little too much. He gets this look in his eyes."

A bolt of fear suddenly strikes his stomach, "Elena, how close to him did you get? How are you getting this information? You shouldn't be--"

"I just questioned a few wandering demons that strayed from the pack. They were very forthcoming once I got my hands on them."

"And what did you do with them after?"

"Killed them."

"Elena, for the love of--"

"Oh relax, I made it look like they were accidents." Her voice cuts through the speaker, the flatness of her tone familiarizing itself into Sam's ears without his consent. "Crowley won't miss a beat if a couple of them go missing."

"That's how you're getting your information? By kidnapping?"

"No, I watch him too. And listen in on some of his conversations. That's how I found out they were headed for Florida."

"Please, please tell me that you listen and watch from a safe distance."

"Sometimes I sit next to him at the bar and eavesdrop."

Sam nearly drops his phone, "Are you kidding me, Elena? You could blow our whole plan if he catches you."

"I'm careful, Sam."

Sam scoffs. "Why don't I believe you right now?"

"Because you think I don't care about anything."

Blood drips from his lip, tickling his skin down to his chin. He wipes it, a dry laugh barking out. "I wonder what could've given me that idea."

"I hate to tell you what to do Sammy, but you just might have to trust me a little," she says. Then with a knowing tone she asks, "And don't act like you haven't been creeping around too."

"Okay, then," he winces at the nickname that he'd told her repeatedly not to use, but ventures a glance at the fallen demon in front of him. "Where are you right now?"

Sam hears loud cheers erupt from her end of the line. As soon as the cheering dies down she says, "I'm watching your big brother. As always."

"And you're just watching him? That's it?"

"Yes, Sam. That's it. I'm not messing with our little plan, okay? Unbunch your panties please."

He's not quite sure that he believes her, but he lets it go, knowing exactly where his line of questioning will lead if he pushes it. "Right. Unbunching," Sam chuckles. "Okay, well, I guess we need to follow him down to Miami."

He hears that dry smile in her voice, "Bring your sunblock, Stretch."

The image of her little smirk appears in his head and he replies, "Well, you better bring your swim suit."

"Bring your abs."

"Bring your--"

The dead demon in front of him stirs, groaning. Sam mutters an expletive then yanks out the knife he'd left in his chest. The demon roars.

"What's going on?" Elena asks.

Sam sandwiches the phone between his cheek and good shoulder. "I thought I killed him," is his only explanation as he shoves the knife into the demon's chest one more time.

He's never heard Elena more disappointed. "Don't tell me you missed his heart, Sam."

The demon finally stills. "Hey, I'm working with one arm, here."

"Please, I've seen you jump over a couch, do a roll, and grab a remote just to change the channel when you saw a clown on TV."

"Why the hell did I ever let you in my motel room?"

"Because you love my charm."

"That's it, you're buying the plane tickets."

"You know, I can just compel them to give them to me for free."

He groans, knowing for a fact that she would. "You know what, nevermind. I'll see you at the airport. I'll text you the time and flight."

And instead of saying goodbye, Sam hears the click of her hanging up on him. He shakes his head and smiles.

**___**

**Miami, Florida**   
**___**

In hindsight, Sam might've realized that he and Elena could very well have taken seperate flights. At the time he thought it was practical to travel together. But he hadn't taken into account that they'd have to sit next to each other. For almost three hours. Three hours straight of proximity.

This was a mistake, and he decides it the moment they step off the plane when his shoulder feels lighter and uncomfortably so. The ghost of a slumbering head still rests there.

Anyway, hours later they're yelling at each other in the middle of the motel lobby. Elena has her arms crossed in agitation as Sam glares at her with fury. This is the same argument they've always ended up in, with Elena firm in her opinion that he stay as far away from Dean as possible while she does the work. After their usual bout of squabbling Sam ultimately accompanies her.

They should have anticipated the heat as they sit in their rental car, windows wide open just outside of the bar they'd pinpointed as one of Dean's places of dwelling.

Sam's hair sticks to his face. A thick, salty layer of sweat lines his skin. He breathes out, the humid Miami air puffing around the interior of the car.

His fingers detach from the steering wheel and he turns to face Elena. Her feet are propped atop the dashboard with her legs angled strangely. Brown strands of hair frizz around her head as she leans it back against her seat. She's faced away from him, her neck stretched.

His next words seem to muddy the hot air even more. "You should head back to the motel. I can take it from here."

She is silent, but Sam can already feel her eyes rolling.

He replaces his hand on the steering wheel. "Elena-"

"Cut the Prince Charming crap, Sam, it'll save us both a lot of time."

"I'm just saying we don't need to both be here for this-"

"God, you're impossible."

Sam squeezes the wheel. "Two tired and cranky people aren't going to get anything done, Elena."

She turns her head to look at him. "But one will do just fine?"

He unsticks his hand again and waves his hand in aggressive dismissal. "You know what, fine. I'll stop being nice to you, how about that? Is that what you want?"

"There's a difference between polite and nice, Sam. Learn it. Do you honestly think I would go home right now just because it's hot? Besides I'm not leaving you alone, you'll do something stupid."

Sam purses his lips. "We've been here for hours. I just thought you could use some rest."

Elena doesn't reply. He can tell she still thinks he's spouting bullshit, but something about her body is less rigid. That's something he'd picked up from the stakeouts and all-nighters. Trying to read her face or her words is pointless. It's the words she doesn't say and her body language that gives her away.

"There," Elena says dropping her legs to the floor and straightening her back. Sam follows her gaze and finds two figures standing near the entrance of the bar. A flickering streetlamp hangs above them. One figure is very clearly Dean, with his laid-back posture and easy expression. The quiet night air brings the sound of his voice through the open window of their car. He's singing some God-awful song in a drunken slur as the figure next to him waves his hands about and if attempting to speak with him.

Dean raises the his fist, rearing it back before slamming it into the man's face. His head snaps back and he shouts.

Sam flinches and Elena narrows her eyes at the scene as if observing a scientific experiment. She mutters something to herself.

They hear Dean laugh, the sound muddled from alcohol.

Without thinking, Sam grasps the keys in an attempt to twist it into starting up the car. He's stopped instantly, Elena's hand slapping his away. He can see her eyes through the dark, warning him not to move.

"We have to get him," he hisses. He sees Dean throw another punch, landing his victim on the ground, who now has red pouring from his nose. His laugh is louder and colder, grinding through the air.

Elena gives Sam a look - one that he's seen over and over again because they've had this same conversation over and over again. "I swear if I have to explain to you one more time why that's an idiotic idea--"

"Shhh!" Sam clamps a hand tightly over her mouth, eyes wide and staring out the window. It isn't until he feels her teeth begin to scrape his skin that he whispers quickly, "He's looking this way. I think he heard us."

Elena freezes and he feels her stop breathing. Dean has already abandoned the man on the ground and is staring straight at them. There's no way he can see them from this distance when it's this dark but Sam's heart is hammering.

Then Dean steps into the street and begins walking towards their car.

"Shit," Elena says, yanking Sam's hand from her mouth. Sam is just waiting and bracing himself when Elena shoves him hard. "Get in the back, now."

When he doesn't move fast enough she pushes him until he tumbles into the back seat onto his back. He nearly gets the wind knocked out of him when she lands on top his body and blocks his view of the window.

Sam looks up at her face, and she whispers, "Close your eyes."

"What--"

"Close your eyes," Elena says with more force. It takes him a split second to give in, and he shuts his eyes. Sam feels her body relax against his, her hair curtaining his face.

The deep tapping of footsteps is muffled from just outside the car, and it stops. Sam peers between barely closed lids, seeing Elena's dark hair striped with moonlight. A shadow covers the window and Dean's silhouette stares down at them. Elena presses her face into Sam's and he breathes deeply in and out. Soft moonlight flutters through the trees outside, trickling in through the windows. It lights splotches of Dean's face, and Sam's heartbeat accelerates.

Green eyes and a hard jaw.

Elena breathes, letting her body rise and fall as if asleep. Sam peers through her hair and sees Dean's cold eyes looking down at them for almost too long before he finally shrugs and takes another swig of beer. His figure retreats back to the bar.

___

"You really just want it quick and dirty, don't you?" she says as they return to her motel room. Her voice is monotonous but the meaning behind her words bite. "That was too fucking close and you almost went after him--"

"You know what, Elena? I really don't get you. We've been following Dean for months and we could've taken him any one of those days-"

"Are you sure it's just me you're not getting or are you completely blind to the gravity of your brother's situation?"

"Blind? I was desperate enough to go to someone like you, wasn't I? You know, talking to you it feels like I'm talking to a brick wall-" Sam presses his lips into a line. If he were speaking to anyone else he'd immediately retract his statement, but the sting of his words just creates a bitterness between them that she never quite tastes. God, he wants to take her by the shoulders and shake her. Force her to react. To feel anything.

But her face maintains distant neutrality when she says, "Yeah, you were. And if you weren't so hell bent on charging in there you'd see that he isn't ready."

"If we're waiting for Dean to be ready then I hate to break it to you, but we're gonna be waiting a few decades." As soon as the statement leaves him a deep, unsettling feeling turns his stomach off balance. Images of his brother falling farther and farther off the grid pushes the next words out of Sam's mouth, "Dean doesn't confront his personal problems, Elena. He'll never be ready. I say we go in now."

She looks him in the eyes. "I'm not doing this for you, Sam. You can't tell me what to do."

Then who is she doing this for? "I brought you in on this case to help me. Whether you want to do that or not, I'm going in there to get him. Tonight. With or without you."

At that something behind her eyes starts, if only briefly. "If I have to I'll knock you out and chain you to that bed."

But her words are empty. As always. "No. You won't. Look, Elena, I don't know what happened to you that made you this way. But I know you don't care enough to stop me and you don't care about Dean enough to make a move. So I'm doing this."

Just as Sam turns to leave, her hand presses to his arm. He pauses, looking back.

"Fine." She frowns. Sam notes a small lift of impatience in the word. "But if we're doing this now, we have to do this my way. How I planned it."

Sam sighs loudly, running a hand through his hair. When was the last time his brother's salvation depended on anyone but him? And someone so unpredictable as Elena. Sam glares at the ceiling with half a mind to strangle Elena and another half to thank whatever supernatural force had dropped her stubborn ass in his path.

He meets her ever resilient eyes. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

**___**

**Little Heaven, Delaware**   
**Present**   
**___**

"Wait," Zadkiel says, lifting his pen off the paper and angling his head to the side. "That can't be right."

Sam sighs, pressing his hands to his eyes. "I don't know what to tell you. That's how it happened. After that night I sent her to bait Dean and she did. Then she and Dean--"

"No," Zadkiel says, "Not the story. Her."

"You think I'm lying about her?"

He shakes his head. "It just seems like there's something you're not telling me. It's just the way you describe her."

"And how is that?"

"You've hardly said a thing about her and the work you two did together. I feel like something happened with you two and you just skipped over it. That seems a little evasive to me."

"Evasive? Well, what else do you need to know? I'll tell you anything you want about her," he says quickly. "I'm not being evasive."

"Okay, then where is she from? What was she doing before she got into trouble with Crowley? How did she get involved with him in the first place?"

Sam visibly braces himself before answering. "She's from Virginia. We never discussed what town she was from but I looked it up. It's a place called Mystic Falls. It's small."

Zadkiel smiles, continuing his notes with excitement. "Interesting."

Sam winces. "Um, what else? She was a vampire for less than a year when we met."

"How did she turn? Does she have a family or someone who's looking for her--"

"Look." Sam shifts in his seat, "These questions are a little personal. This is stuff about her that I don't really have a right to discuss so can we just move on? It has nothing to do with Dean anyway."

Zadkiel regards him with a smug smile. "Interesting. Okay then, we'll move on. But I'd much rather hear this part of the story from her perspective. Don't you think that would be more accurate?"

Sam pales. "I think I have enough of the story to do it justice."

"I don't think so." He taps the end of his pen on the notebook. "You know, too many tiny holes in a story can add up, Sam. We'll be left with a rather big gap, don't you think?"

"No. I don't. The way I tell it is all you need to know. There isn't anything else."

The pen taps. "Why are you so angry right now?"

"I'm not!" But the crack in his voice betrays him.

"Sam," Zadkiel says, "I can't help you or your brother if you're hiding things from me."

"I'm not. I'm not hiding anything. Can we just move on?"

Zadkiel sighs. "Well, I'm sorry but I already had her brought here."

"What?!" Sam stands, nearly knocking over his chair. His eyes dart for the exit, but he already sees her figure through the small window in the door.

An angel escorts her down the hall and a building pressure in his chest threatens to burst past his ribcage. He sees her dark hair, now without a trace of red. A thread of emotions flit across Sam's face and behind his eyes. His fingers curl and stretch, as if recalling something he'd once touched.

The window frames Elena's face as she draws closer and her arms wrap around herself.

Sam tears his wide eyes away from her and turns on Zadkiel, "I can't believe you did this. I specifically said that I didn't want anyone else involved! I told you a thousand times--"

"What do you want, Sam? Do you want me to help Dean or do you want to keep Elena out of it? Because I can't do both. Elena is a big chunk of this story and you can't avoid it."

Sam glances back at the window. He finds her eyes staring back at him and just like that, he lets out a long breath and slumps back into his chair as if she'd sucked out all his tension with a single glance.

Zadkiel smiles, then nods at the angel just outside. The door budges open and Elena steps inside.

Sam raises his eyes to look at her. Their glances connect and she smiles politely at him, "Sam."

Something inside him clicks into place, as if his eyes have been waiting for her face and his ears have been waiting for her voice.

"Elena," he says. The name feels rich in his mouth. Elena hesitates before pulling at the empty chair next to him. She offers them both an uncomfortable laugh and lowers herself into it, uncertainty plain on her face.

"Hello, Elena," Zadkiel says, taking in her dark shirt and plain jeans. "I have to say . . . you're not what I expected."

Elena looks at Sam, whose eyes are stuck on her. He feels the sleeve of her t-shirt brush his arm, and his heart clenches.

"I bet Sam had me sounding like some kind of monster," she laughs again. Sam's never heard her laugh a real laugh before, and it curls around him like music on Sunday morning.

"More like a block of ice."

"Right, well . . . I wasn't myself. And Sam was very patient with me. As patient as he could be," she says, words clipped. She lowers her eyes briefly, then releases and exhale. "I was a handful."

"I hope you don't mind me asking," the angel says, caution slowing his words. "But what changed? You seem different."

Elena nods, "My humanity. I turned it back on since then."

Zadkiel scratches two sentences into his notebook, muttering, "Fascinating. How very fascinating . . ."

"I'm glad," Sam says to her as the angel flips through his notes. "That you found yourself again." He lifts a hand to place over hers, but thinks better of it and wrings his fingers through his hair instead.

Elena takes a deep breath. "Yeah, me too." Her hand moves off of the table and into her lap. "I just hope we'll be enough to get Dean out of this." She twists her fingers together.

The heaviness in Sam's chest drags downward. "Elena," he says, turning his body towards her. She stiffens, back straightening like she'd just been hit and Sam feels a deep pang of guilt. He doesn't move any closer. He swallows before saying, "I won't let anything happen to Dean. I promise. I'll do whatever it takes."

"Yeah," she says softly, not looking at him. Her eyes are shining. "I've heard that before."

Sam reels back, the pain in his chest worsening. He looks away from her. "Elena, you don't have to be here--"

She scoffs, "Yes, I do, Sam. Or else you wouldn't tell them the whole story. As always your judgement when it comes to Dean is screwed up, okay? So yes, I need to be here."

"I was respecting your privacy, Elena!" His increase in volume attracts Zadkiel's attention back to them. "I assumed there were some things that you didn't want out there."

"Oh please," Elena says, but her wrath is blunt and lacking in aggression. Sadness laces her words instead. "They told me what you've been saying. You and I both know you weren't messing up the story to spare my feelings. You were doing it to spare yours."

Sam flinches. He should have expected it but it still feels like a knife to the heart. He shakes his head then closes his eyes, avoiding hers and Zadkiel's gazes. His face falls to rest in his hand.

The angel's eyes are wide with curiosity. He looks at Elena. "Just how much of the story is false?"

"Nothing was a lie," Elena says, running a hand through her hair. She nibbles at her bottom lip. "But there are things he left out."

"So how much of the story did he actually tell?"

"Honestly?" She looks at Sam, who hasn't yet moved, then back to him, "He hasn't told you anything."

The angel's eyebrows inch lower, and a strange feeling of anticipation beats inside of him. Something tells him that what he's heard so far is just the tip of the iceberg, and this story is about to unravel fast. So pay attention.

* * *

 


	3. I Do Not Feel Like Being Good

**Richmond, Virginia**   
**Summer, Two Years Ago**   
**___**

Before she met Sam, Elena had already heard plenty about Dean Winchester. Because of a certain King of Hell they have in common, she'd already had a face in her head. If she were to base her preconception entirely on what Crowley had whined about back when they were on friendlier terms (a story for another time), she'd imagine Dean as a rebellious Ken doll simmering with constant belligerence.

But, after meeting Sam last night the image refines itself. Her mind's eye projects a black-eyed man with a scowl sewn into his mouth. Blood drips from his hands as a grey cloud hovers above his head. She stops herself before her imagination runs rampant and drags her into a daydream.

She's in the middle of thinking up a happy medium between the two Deans as she takes a heart gulp of bourbon. The clinking of glasses sings throughout the bar. Elena's in a corner booth with her fingernail poking into the splintering wood of the table. She shifts, casually glancing at the clock.

An hour passes with no Dean in sight. She sighs, rocking her glass back and forth, whirling the liquid around. The sickly smell of alcohol soaks the air.

Just when she feels as if she's memorized every detail of the room - from the sticky brown surface of the main bar to the low pitched creak of the front door - she hears a deep, rough breath.

She straightens and tilts her head, brushing her hair behind her ears. After a long silence she wonders if she'd imagined it.

Then she hears the inhale become an exhale. It tickles the hairs on her neck. Elena strains her ears until she locates him just outside the door.

Creak.

Her eyes meet the opening of the door, and in he walks. She doesn't quite know what she's expecting, but what she sees is a man with eyes the color of spring grass. Slow, confident strides bring him towards the bar, his angular face leading him. Freshly slept hair dances atop his head, waiting for fingers to run through it.

A smile stretches across Elena's lips.

Hello, Squirrel.

Her eyes flit around the bar as she silently observes its customers. The turnout is pretty pathetic, ranging from elderly men to openly disgusting predators. It isn't until she spots a pretty girl around her age that she smirks. Jackpot.

Remaining in her seat, she watches the girl through brief side glances. She's sitting by herself, looking as if she were contemplating a very bad date when she first notices Dean. Her eyes light up like a kid who just had a bucket of ice cream shoved in front of her. Elena inwardly high-fives herself each time she catches the her staring at Dean. Ten high-fives total in a matter of minutes. And counting.

Elena makes her way to her with a wide grin with warmth emanating from her eyes as if they'd known each other for years. She pours every ounce of pure, sugar-cane sweetness into her voice, "Oh my God, it's been so long! How've you been?"

"Um--" The girl breaks her stare at Dean and her confused eyes snap to Elena. She has pale skin and acidic blonde hair that make her overall appearance seem startled. "I don't think I know you--"

Elena slides into the seat next to her and puts a hand on her shoulder. She leans forward so that their eyes align. "What's your name?"

"Uh, Katie?" She wriggles, causing a squeaking noise.

"Hi, Katie. I'm gonna need you to do something for me. You're going to talk to that guy over there." She points out a perverted man that she'd seen eyeballing several of the bar's female customers.

Her blue eyes glaze over. "I think I want to talk to that guy."

Elena nods. "Exactly. And you're gonna make a big fuss when he starts harassing you, okay?"

"I will make a big fuss when he harasses me." She narrows her eyes. "But he isn't harassing me."

Elena rolls her eyes. "Yes, but he will. I made sure he will. Now go." She leans back in her seat and snags a menu, quickly shielding her face.

Katie stands, back straight as she ambles towards their pervert. Her heels clack. The man's inebriated eyes climb up to look at her, and as planned, his bearded mouth twists into a sneer. "Well, hello."

"Hi," Katie says with a tiny wave. She tosses another glance in Dean's direction. He doesn't notice.

Pervert grins and snatches her still waving arm, pulling her onto his lap. She immediately shrieks. A little over the top in Elena's opinion, but it's believable enough.

Dean's eyes leap to the source of the commotion, the girl squirming and the pervert leering. Elena peeks above her menu as Dean looks down at his drink, shaking his head. The muscle in the back of his neck shifts and his hand closes tightly around his glass.

A smile tugs at the corner of Elena's mouth. Gotcha.

Dean takes another sip of his beer, stands, then turns to approach the man. His steps thud against the wooden floor and he stops in front of the table.

"Listen, man," his voice rolls in through the bar like low thunder. His eyes crackle green. "You're making it real hard to sit down and have a drink in peace."

"Can't say you're doing me any favors either, kid. " His grip on the girl tightens and she wrinkles her nose in disgust. He bares his teeth, "Watch yourself."

Dean's expression doesn't change. Calm, steel eyes rest on Pervert's face with a cold viciousness that only Elena doesn't flinch at. Suddenly the room is in a vacuum. Complete silence. Dean's arctic stare is unwavering when he replies, "You need to leave."

The man swallows, then pushes Katie off of him. She tumbles to the floor with a loud humph, shooting Elena an accusatory scowl which goes unnoticed by the two men. Elena can practically see the fear shrinking in Pervert's face as it gets pushed aside by some very misplaced pride and self-righteousness. He smirks, "Oh, do I? You gonna try and make me, Prettyboy?"

Elena stops herself from snorting. Next time she'd choose a guy with less cheese.

Dean smiles, the humor not quite reaching his eyes. His shoulders square, "Is this the part where you try to hit me?"

Pervert curls his lip, face reddening before he attempts a very predictable right hook, swinging his fist at Dean like a flailing cat over water. Dean catches it with ease and socks him right in the stomach.

Pervert doubles over, falling to the ground. Dean catches him by the shirt, dragging his already weak body to face him. He lands another punch, this time on the nose. Blood spills from him. The patrons of the bar murmur but, Elena notes, they don't move to stop it.

Pervert's on the floor again, eyebrows screwed together in agony. Dean's fist bashes his face again, the sound a sickening squelch. The metallic zing of blood starts to catch Elena's nose.

"Stop," he groans, "Stop!"

Dean swings his foot back then lands a blow right into his gut. There is a sharp gasp among the surrounding crowd when a loud crack sounds at the collision.

While everyone watches in horror while the man on the floor screams in pain, Elena is fixed on Dean. Her heart thumps, seeing a rabid bloodthirst in the darkness of his gaze that rivals a starving vampire's. His breathing is ragged, sucking in and huffing out like a wolf circling a baby deer. Blood marks his face in small, saturated splatters. The green of his eyes intensifies. His tongue darts out and scrapes across a speck of blood.

Elena licks her lips.

The bartender's voice breaks her focus as he calls an ambulance. He's unmoved by the entire debacle, as if it were routine, and he even nods at Dean as he chats up Katie.

Just when Elena thinks she's been entertained plenty today, she gets drawn into the highly amusing mating display in front of her.

She has to admit, Dean leaks charisma. His smile is broad and fierce, and the wicked glint in his eyes is catnip to Katie's hungry gaze. Elena might have fallen victim to his charms at some point, perhaps when she was still a teenager. But now his handsome yet off features are nothing more to her than a mask obscuring the human underneath. The person that Sam so desperately clings to. This is who she needs to reach.

Elena lounges silently at her table, sipping her drink as Katie gleefully lets Dean place a hand on her lower back. He leans forward, his lips grazing her ear as he says, "Let me take you home."

Elena's already slapping her tip on the table and making her exit as Katie agrees. Elena doesn't stop walking until she's out the door and in her car.

She ends up following them to his place - which is only a couple blocks away - and watching as Dean and his new companion make their way up to a small apartment on the third floor. As soon as she's sure that they're in, Elena takes down the address, leaving the car a ways down the street and making her way on foot.

Her teeth knaw at her lip for approximately two minutes before her eyes slide from Dean's apartment to the complex to the left of it, which has a window directly across from his balcony.

"Today's my lucky day, isn't it?" Elena mutters to herself.

By six o'clock she'd compelled her way into the adjacent apartment and set up shop, complete with a camera resting on a sturdy tripod, a box of all the files she could get her hands on containing the name 'Dean Winchester', and a small supply of blood bags to tide her over.

His apartment is plain, with nothing signaling any emotional attachment to the place. The basics are all there, the couch, the radio, the bed. But Elena can't glean anything helpful from that. By the time Elena finally chooses a channel to leave the T.V. on in the background, Dean is done with Katie. Elena shuts an eye and uses the other to look through her camera lens, watching in amusement as Dean ushers the poor girl out and shuts the door with an impassive look on his face.

For the rest of the night he sits on his couch as he plays music so loud that Elena can see the rattle of the windows.

Her vampire eyes catch everything from the boredom staining his green irises to the severe clench of his jaw whenever certain songs play. Elena laughs at the foreign look on his face when the first notes of "Dust in the Wind" dance dreamily around the room. Dean's eyes harden and he bashes the OFF button so forcefully that it skids across the table.

"No Kansas for Kansas boy," Elena says to herself, slurping from her blood bag. The television behind her starts singing about spoonfuls of sugar as the last of the blood trickles up her straw.

Two hours in, Elena familiarizes herself with every one of his features made available to her eyes. The twitch of his brow, the distasteful crinkle of his nose, or the roughly charged set of his jaw.

Three hours in, the pattern of his breathing commits itself to her ears. It's an easy in and out, a flowing exchange of air that stills her. She can't turn it off. Soon the sound feels suffocating to her, ghosting inside her head at a disturbing rhythm until it's unbearable. Elena stands, pacing the apartment floor back and forth eight times.

"Boring, boring, boringgggg," Elena flicks at the strap of her camera and it swings left and right in a hypnotizing lull. She stops at the window and tilts her head at him. "Come on, Dean give me something."

He stands on his balcony in a pair of jeans, his elbows on the railing as he looks up. The touch of moonlight on his face softens him if only a little, but does nothing to stop his stormy eyes. It's an annoying contradiction that Elena hardly has patience for.

She brings herself near the window, just on the edge of where the light streams in. If she steps any closer to it he would see her crystal clear.

Then, as if sensing her thoughts, he lowers his eyeline from the sky and straight into her window. Elena freezes, the weight of his stare causing her breath to catch. His lips part, and he breathes in. The sound is loud to her ears. She shudders, the clasp of his eyes on her like a cold, unrelenting magnet.

For a fleeting moment she thinks he actually sees her. But then his phone rings and he blinks, releasing her from his invisible hold, and pushes off the balcony railing. She breathes again as he disappears back into the apartment.

It's that feeling, the brief, unfamiliar ache that attacks her suddenly that sends a lick of panic up her spine. She squashes it down faster than it can rise, eyes wide as she struggles to reign everything back in. To tuck away every bit of humanity seeping out through the cold layer of sweat on her skin.

"What?" Dean answers shortly, pressing the phone to his ear.

" _Hello, Dean_ ," Crowley's gravely voice says. Elena suppresses a gag. " _Do you think you can guess why I'm calling?_ "

"No."

" _You killed the wrong person yesterday. You cost me a soul._ "

"Oh, well," Dean sighs with sarcastic heaviness. "Everybody makes mistakes."

" _You do realize that the more you mess with me, the lower my tolerance for you gets? I can drop you faster than you can say you're sorry and the dogs will eat you alive._ "

Elena's heard that before. Her already unpleasant history with Crowley is like a hand constantly gripping her shoulder and she has to fight to refrain from bolting.

"We both know you wouldn't let that happen," Dean says, taunting him. "You're too afraid."

" _You cocky son of a bitch,_ " Crowley says. " _I've known assholes like you. Don't flatter yourself by thinking you're special_."

She feels a spark of hatred towards the man that she quickly snuffs out. Anger can't help her now, no matter how much it tries to claw its way back into her head-

"Yeah, I heard," Dean says, interrupting her thoughts. "I heard that you got duped by a vampire."

"Huh," Elena hums with a little smile.

" _Which is why I'm not taking any crap from you, Dean Winchester_ ," Crowley responds. " _I'm not above throwing you back in hell. I have nothing to lose from letting them tear you limb from limb._ "

Dean rolls his eyes. "Knock yourself out."

Elena hears the grumble of frustration on the other line. Crowley barks out several expletives, some in languages that Elena can't even identify. But she does catch the words, "Sam" and "mother" in a very unflattering tone.

Elena snatches her camera and brings it to her face, zooming the lens in closer to Dean whose voice is low in his reply:

"Look, if you wanted a friend in me you'll be disappointed. If you wanted a pet, then sorry. Not happening. If you wanted to treat me like a servant like you did with that vampire chick, then that would've been a big mistake because look what happened with her. She knocked off half your guys. But hey, do whatever the hell you want, Crowley. See what happens. Kill me. Kill Sam. I don't give a damn."

He hangs up the phone and tosses it onto the couch, his features displaying nothing remotely close to worried.

Elena lowers her camera, a sigh slipping passed her lips. The rebelling against Crowley is a good sign, but then again, who wouldn't? What really sets back her plans is Sam. His name had rolled off Dean's tongue without even a shadow hesitation or fear or anything. He'd tossed him aside as quickly as he just dismissed Crowley. And if he can't feel anything for the person who loves him most in the world, then what can he feel?

* * *

Sam is spiraling.

He's been getting more and more frantic ever since their meeting at the diner. The pictures she'd shared with him only ripened his frustration. He's grasping for anything. Elena learns quickly to refrain from using Dean's name because Sam's reaction to it had only grown more violent, as if the sound of those particular consonants and vowels in that order is physically painful for him.

At first Elena doesn't realize she's doing it, but it eventually becomes clear that she's trying to keep him sane.

She releases a relieved breath each time the light returns to his dying eyes, whether it be because of a brief joke she'd snapped at him or a small touch of her hand to his shoulder. She's doing it for the sake of the job. To kill Crowley. To stay alive. At least that's what she tells herself whenever she picks up the phone to text him.

"Please don't tell me that you texted 'emergency' just for this," Sam says as he stomps toward her down the aisle. He nearly knocks over a row of toothbrushes with the force of his stride.

Elena doesn't look his way, but continues her search. She plucks a bottle of aftershave off of a lower shelf and pops the cap. She takes a cursory whiff and wrinkles her nose.

"I need your opinion on something," she says snatching another bottle. She opens it and squirts some onto the back of her hand. It comes out in a foamy swirl.

"Are you kidding me right now?" He asks, stopping next to her with a look of unfiltered irritation.

Elena smiles. She's grown fond of his bouts of impoliteness. She thinks that she might actually prefer them over his strained manners. "Tell me, on a scale of one to ten, how disgustingly manly does this smell?"

"Wha--"

Elena offers him her hand. He frowns and looks at it as if it owed him a massive debt. He glances back at her to check if she's joking. When she makes no move to retract, he rolls his eyes and seizes her hand.

Bringing it to his face, he takes a short sniff. "Six."

"Huh." Elena gives it another smell then shrugs, placing the bottle back on the shelf.

"Should I ask?" Sam says, watching as she rummages through a more expensive brand.

"Nope." She puts her hands on her hips and stares down the shelves with narrowed eyes.

Sam sighs and takes another bottle off the shelf. "What about cologne?"

"Nuh-uh," she shakes her head. "Going for manly not douchey."

"I know I probably won't get an answer but I'll ask again anyway." He flips over the bottle in his hands, squinting at the ingredients. "You really don't want to tell me what you dragged me out of bed for?"

"Oh please, you weren't in bed."

He exhales a rough laugh. "Can't argue with you there." He pokes her arm with a bottle. "Here. This is the one."

She lifts a brow and takes it from him. He watches her with a small but amused smile as she takes a whiff and quickly recoils. "Ugh. Perfect ten."

Sam nods. "Told you."

"Well spotted, sir." She raises a hand to him which he high-fives. She tosses the bottle into her shopping cart.

He sighs, releasing tension from his shoulders. He grips both hands into his hair and runs them through. "Well, is there anything else you need besides my expertise on men's aftershave?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you had to get back to not sleeping."

"Believe it or not, I have other things to worry about besides your weird bathroom needs," he says following her as she wheels down the aisle. Elena smiles to herself as he lumbers along next to her, eyes wandering about the store tiredly.

They turn into the next aisle and Elena makes a stop next to the condoms with Sam looking over her shoulder. She taps her fingers against the handle of the cart, indecision scrunching her face.

Sam gives her a silent look of questioning, eyes firing at her the questions he'd rather not ask aloud. She blatantly ignores him.

"Which is the most comfortable?" She asks, turning to look at him expectantly. He opens his mouth to respond heatedly, but she cuts him off. "No, nevermind, I guess comfort isn't the priority."

"Elena, are all these things for you?" Sam asks, peering into her cart which contains the previously chosen aftershave as well as an assortment of hats, wigs, and jackets.

She glances at the contents of the cart. "Oh dammit, how'd that get in there?" She plunges her arm into the pile and extracts a plaid jacket. She tosses it onto a random shelf before returning to her condom dilemma.

"Okay, what was wrong with that?"

"No plaid," she says simply.

He huffs, "I should just stop asking." Sam moves to stand beside her at the shelf, eyeballing the numerous brands and flavors. After a minute of staring he turns to her, "Just go plain."

"You think so?" Elena picks up the most generic box.

"Yeah," Sam says. He clears his throat. "I really don't think you need any . . . help."

Elena's eyes slide to his and his cheeks redden. She smiles, "Thanks, but these aren't for me."

"Oh." Sam lets out a breath. He presses his lips together, causing a long, heavy pause. Then he finally says, "I've been thinking."

"You're not dumping me, are you?" Elena asks as she puts one box of condoms in the cart. The wheels squeak softly as they roll, circling back to the clothing section.

Sam snorts, "I've been thinking that you were right about Dean. About him being kinda like you."

"You made yourself a venn diagram, didn't you?"

"You can joke all you want, but it's true," Sam says. He looks at her with a smile that's almost warm, seeing something in her face that Elena can't. She feels a beat inside her skip. Something tells her that Sam's definition of alike is very different from hers.

"When I said that I meant that we both have shit histories, Sam," she clarifies, grabbing the sluttiest dress she could find off the nearest rack. "I can tell by your face that you're thinking about something mushy, and I'd like you to stop."

Sam looks at the dress with a tilt of his head. "Red looks better on you."

Elena frowns, tossing the emerald dress into the cart anyway, which for some reason causes Sam to breathe another sigh of relief.

"You know, for someone who claims to be so great at reading people, you're not so great at reading yourself," he says.

"It's a good thing I don't need to." She says, heading towards a pile of underwear.

"My point is," Sam says impatiently, "You both are softer on the inside than you show on the outside."

Elena grimaces, "Remember what I said about mush, Sam?"

"Stop?"

"Yeah, that's it," she says.

Then, as if it finally registers in his brain, Sam throws his hands up as if this was the last straw, "What could you possibly need those--" he pokes a particularly unmodest piece of lingerie, "--for right now?"

Elena thinks on it a moment. "You know what? You're right. I can't wear underwear with this dress, it's too tight."

His eyes widen, "I thought you said this wasn't for you."

"No, I said the condoms weren't for me."

He lets out a groan of frustration, passing a hand over his face. "You know, sometimes it feels like I'm talking to a rock."

Elena moves down the aisle. "That's stupid. Rocks don't need underwear."

"Apparently neither do you," he mutters, trailing after her.

Elena laughs loudly, which takes him completely by surprise because he seems to forget to walk and just stares at her with both eyebrows raised. When he recovers he says, "You better know what you're doing."

"Don't worry," she says, looking over her shoulder at him. His smile is uncertain, but he's smiling nonetheless. So she tells him the first words that come to mind, "I've got you, Sam."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, Dean and Elena didn't technically meet yet! But don't worry it's coming hehe


	4. Dust Your Conscience Off

Elena swallows the last of her drink, the fizzing liquid sliding down her throat. She breathes out.

"You know, I can just compel them to give them to me for free," she says into her phone.

Sam groans, "You know what, nevermind. I'll see you at the airport. I'll text you the time and flight."

Elena hangs up, convincing herself that he'll no doubt re-injure his arm before tomorrow morning. When she raises her eyes again Dean's there sitting at the bar. She's been watching him for a solid hour and just recently overheard his plans to travel to Miami. In her time watching him it's become obvious that Dean's relationship with Crowley has been strained to it's furthest limit, stretching just past Crowley's level of patience and dancing drunken circles around it - which is great news for Sam.

Dean slides a hand back and forth through his hair, causing it to bend in different directions. Bright eyes flash, as he throws his head back laughing at the bartender's joke. Elena clutches her empty glass and makes her way to the bar, each step making the sound of his laughter clearer in her ears.

"She sounds like a riot," Dean is saying to the barman as she sits down a couple seats away from him. "I want to meet her sometime."

He shakes his head vigorously. "No way. Not happening. And I mean that in the nicest way possible."

Dean barks out another deep laugh. "Okay, fair enough."

The man chuckles to himself before turning to Elena. "Refill?"

She nods, offering him a quick smile. As he refills the glass, she sneaks a peek at Dean, who is downing a shot himself. Lines age his eyes and mouth as he swallows, his throat shifting. The darkness provided by her hood allows her a few extra degrees to turn her head, and she watches him carefully. Measuring. His green eyes, his smiling mouth, his loose hands. She pays close attention to where his gaze roams (to the woman in the corner booth) and what his eyes miss (Elena right next to him wearing a sweatshirt, baggy jeans, and the stench of her new aftershave).

Elena turns away from him, meeting the girl's eyes and winks, signaling her. Obediently, she stands and makes her way to the bar, passing Elena and sitting between her and Dean. It doesn't take long for them to strike up a conversation thanks to Elena feeding the girl several of Dean's points of interest beforehand. When it seems that he's well into the conversation, she stands, thanks the bartender for the drink, and heads out.

~~~

One vampire-strength twist of a knob later, she's in Dean's apartment.

Stepping in, she immediately inhales the smell of whiskey, even stronger than at the bar. She wonders if he'd spilt a whole bottle and never bothered cleaning it. Or perhaps he washes his sheets with it.

Keeping an ear listening outside, she treks silently into the room. His scent is everywhere, growing more prominent the deeper she goes, clouding her brain. She heads straight for the bedside table and wiggles the drawer open.

Empty.

She shuts it, eyes sweeping the room for that one thing that screams vulnerability. The thing that still anchors him to his old life. She chews the inside of her cheek, "Come on, come on . . ."

The anchor snags as her eyes settle on a small book sealed with a clasp. She pries it open and slides her fingers through the pages. Numbers and names imprint them, all in what Elena recognizes as Crowley's handwriting. It takes only a split second for her to identify it as a ledger.

She flips through it, taking pictures with her phone. As she scans the names a thought enters her head, and it dawns on her exactly what Dean's travel plans mean. She shuts the book.

"Oh, Crowley," she says, "What did you do?"

A breath makes its way to her ears from downstairs. She spits out a curse, slapping the book closed and tossing it back on top of the table. Seeing her only exit, she wrenches the balcony door open and snaps it shut behind her just as she ears the door knob twist.

Dean is humming, the notes swimming into each other from the whiskey.

Her breathing shallow, Elena sees no other choice. She leaps off the balcony and onto the balcony just across from her. She lands badly, her hand scraping against the rough metal. Her skin gives way as she pulls herself up and over the railing. She barely shuts the door behind her before she hears Dean step onto his balcony.

Elena stills, peering through the thin curtain. He hears Dean take a deep breath, inhaling sharply. Through the curtain she sees his eyebrows lower.

It could've been one minute or it could've been an hour, she couldn't say. But she feels her body relax as soon as Dean disappears back into his apartment.

It isn't until later that day, when she's lying back on the couch in Sam's motel room, that she realizes that Dean had smelled her.

~~~

Sam's fingers won't stop tapping. It's a rigorous taptaptapping on the armrest that nearly rattles the entire seat and Elena's.

Her eyes slide from his fingers to his anxious face. "Are you scared?"

A short breath huffs past his teeth. "Of planes?" His fingers slow, "No. No, I just never thought he would do this."

"Dean?"

He nods, the muscles around his mouth stiff. "He hates flying."

The notion makes Elena smile to herself. It comes more easily than she's used to. "That doesn't explain why you're uncomfortable."

Sam laughs shortly. "Am I?"

Elena sighs and places her hand on top of his, flattening it against their shared armrest. "Sam, if you don't stop tapping your goddamn fingers I will cut each of them off myself."

At that his lips break into a grin, the lines reaching his eyes. "Didn't think you were one for empty threats, Elena."

She raises her brows. "You think I wouldn't?"

"I think you're a softie, remember?"

"Ha. Believe what you want." She rolls her eyes, another smile sneaking onto her lips. A small tickle buzzes at her fingertips. When she looks back at him she finds his eyes on her. "What?"

A corner of his mouth tilts upward, "Nothing. You just seem . . . happy. Happy looks good on you. "

Her heart twists, and the sudden lightness in his eyes is almost worth her sacrificing her smile to him. "Take a good look Winchester, this is the last you'll see of it."

Sam smirks, "We'll see about that."

The plane shudders as they lift higher and higher into the air. Sam flips through several of the films available on the screen in front of him.

"Wait," Elena says, bumping him with her elbow.

He stops scrolling. "What? You wanna watch this one?" He points at the movie that had caught her eye. "Sabrina?"

She nods, snatching the second headset. An amused expression crosses Sam's face as he clicks the play button and Elena sinks onto his shoulder. It takes a second for Sam to adjust, then he rests his head against hers.

As the movie plays Elena closes her eyes and listens. The familiar dialogue resonates in her skull along with Sam's deep, relaxed breathing against her ear. La Vie en Rose begins to play, and just for a moment, she feels peaceful.

___

The story Sam had told Zadkiel had been accurate to a degree. He had the main points, A and B, but what he neglected to share was the line in between. The sheer number of hours that she had spent with him. The long, sleepless nights of arguing and discussing Dean and what's right by him. Their constant position at odds with each other had forced them into a relationship that neither of them asked for.

After their fight the night Dean had almost caught them, Sam's rising anger had nearly zapped every molecule in his body. Elena half expects his beautiful hair to be falling right off his scalp from the stress.

They'd discussed it in depth and for far too long in Elena's opinion. She was again reminded why working with other people is something that she tries to avoid. But when they'd finally arrived at an agreement they shook on it.

Sam would be comfortable with Elena taking her time if - and only if - she planted herself closer to Dean. He wanted one hundred percent quality information. They'd ended the conversation there and hadn't returned to it since.

The clock clicks one in the morning when Elena forces his motel room door open.

"Who's there?" Sam's hoarse voice calls, sounding as if there were something blocking his throat.

Elena shuts the door. The lights clicks on and she sees his eyes focus on her. Relief comes first before annoyance.

"How the hell did you get in here?" Sam demands. He struggles to sit up.

"Picked the lock." She chucks a small bottle at him, and it rattles as it sails through the air.

He catches it with his good arm and glances over the label. "How-?"

"You sounded gross over the phone," she says. Sam looks at the plastic bag swaying against her hip. He makes out the shape of styrofoam trays.

He raises an eyebrow, "You broke into my motel room to fatten me up and drug me?"

Before he's even done asking she's heading for the kitchen. Then she's in front of him, dark eyes set on him like cold orbs as she brings the glass to his face.

"Take the medicine."

"No." Sam, apparently still drowsy from his slumber, tosses the bottle back at her. It bounces off her chest and back onto the bed. "That could be poison."

Elena rolls her eyes. "You'd better be kidding."

"I am," his smile breaks across his face, "But I have a feeling you didn't pay for those."

Elena's eyes absorb the smile hungrily, "Nope. Now take them, you look awful."

"What?" he says instead. "You don't like sweat?"

"I don't like the sound of phlegm," she says, dropping the glass of water at his bedside table. It splashes a miniature wave onto the bed. He reaches for the bottle.

"Did you find anything?" Sam asks, tossing a couple pills back and lifting the glass gingerly. He brings it to his lips, spilling the cold liquid down his throat.

She sighs, dropping onto her back at the end of the bed. She stretches out, her left hand brushing Sam's foot under the blanket.

"Predictable. They're at a bar called the Dead Leaves. Partying." She pauses with slight uncertainty.

"What is it?" Sam asks. The tired, darkened skin around his eyes suddenly seems darker as his eyes widen with worry.

"I had this awful thought back in Detroit about Dean and Crowley. I wasn't sure about it . . ." She shakes her head. "I could be wrong."

"Elena."

The sight of his eyebrows sharply tilting together in fear is enough to make her want to tear a hole in space-time and remove her previous words from existence.

She sighs, sitting up. After a pause, she says, "Look, Sam. I'm going to tell you a few things about myself that might change the way you see me. And that's fine, I guess. But I don't want--" She cuts off, shaking her head. "But I guess what I want isn't the point right now, so here it is . . ."

Confused and intrigued, Sam's gaze doesn't falter, and he nods for her to continue.

"I think you figured out that I used to work for Crowley," she says hurriedly. "I was stupid then. Wanted nothing more than to leave my old life behind. I would've done everything in my power to keep my past as far away as possible. Turns out I didn't have enough power. I learned very quickly that the past is something you can't outrun."

"Crowley took advantage of that," Sam says, his mouth in a grim line.

Elena smiles, "I became his pet, I suppose. In return he made sure no one came looking for me." She can see the questions flitting across Sam's face, but she continues, "I stole for him. I killed for him. I cleaned up the messes your brother left."

"Wait," he says with confusion, "So you've met him before?"

She shakes her head, "I only knew about him because Crowley bitched about him every chance he got." She exhales heavily. "Look, the point is that I thought Crowley was giving me my freedom. But I'd just traded one cage for another. And I wanted out."

"Oh, Elena," Sam says in realization, passing a hand over his face. "Is that why he's after you? You backed out of a deal? His deals don't have loopholes, Elena. You can't outrun the dogs."

Something suspiciously like anger ignites inside her and she hurries to snuff it out. Once satisfied that she can't escape, she replies evenly, "I know, Sam. But I'd rather die free then live trapped under the devil's thumb. I should've realized that before I let him use me."

Her statement brings to mind a hurricane of thoughts that she'd managed to bury until now. Fear's ghost makes her all the more determined to keep the switch on her humanity locked in place and the overwhelming guilt, anger, and grief at bay.

There is a long silence in which Elena feels the weight of Sam's sorry gaze on her. She sighs, "I guess he realized that he liked having a pet around so when I tried to leave, Crowley tried to buy me back. He gave me more power."

He takes a breath. "You think that's what he's doing with Dean."

She nods. "I think so."

He pauses, then says, "Well that's a good thing, isn't it? It means Dean wants to get out."

She meets his eyes, "Yes. But if I'm right it also means that Dean took the bribe."

"But he isn't loyal to Crowley," Sam counters, eyes wide and hopeful. A dusty and unwanted sense of tact somehow keeps her mouth shut. For some reason she doesn't want to say that Dean's bond with Crowley is much more than just demonhood. She doesn't want to tell Sam that Dean taking the deal means that he's in deeper than she'd originally thought. Sam doesn't notice her silence as a smile grows on his face.

Sighing, Elena gropes around for the remote. When she feels the familiar rubber of the buttons she clicks on the TV and it sings. It's an old musical with black and white figures dancing across the screen. Elena leans forward, humming the familiar tune, and bends down to tug her shoes and socks off. Once done, she sighs, pressing her toes into the soft carpet.

The hum and whir of the air conditioning intertwines with the music, and Elena turns to volume up. She hears a low chuckle and looks at Sam, who is smiling at her with that spark of joy that she rarely sees.

"What?" she asks quickly.

Sam puts his hands up, "Nothing." He squirms under the blanket.

After they eat the burgers and fries Elena had brought. They spend the rest of the night lying side by side watching movies. Soon she feels Sam drift to sleep.

___

"Did you get any sleep?" Sam's groggy voice wades through the darkness. He shifts under the blanket. Halfway through the night Sam had pulled her underneath the blanket and into his arms.

Elena turns her head into his chest, and feels his breath tickle her hair. "No. I only sleep every couple of days. The flight threw my pattern off."

He tilts his head to get a look at her but fails, seeing nothing beyond the black. There is a pause, and they hear the chirps of crickets outside the window. She feels him turn his face to rest against the pillow and his chin atop her head. "What do you do at night, then?"

"Sometimes I drink. Sometimes I drive around."

"Aren't you, I don't know, tired?"

She lets out a breathy laugh. "Sure I am, Sam. Now go back to sleep."

In her experience without humanity, Elena's learned that people only do good things for two reasons. They either want to do the right thing, or they feel like they have to do the right thing.

But when it comes to Sam, she just can't read him. He tries his best not to be obvious about it but she notices. Like when they were at the airport waiting in line and he'd shifted to block her from a particularly sleazy man's lingering gaze. It had seemed like he was trying to get a better look at the announcement board until Sam had put his arm around her when the man came closer. She'd looked up at him with a raised brow.

He'd cleared his throat, giving her a quick side glance before removing his arm. "Uh, you looked cold."

Other times Elena endures his hard sighs when he begrudgingly pays for her airfare, or when he chucks blood bags in front of her if she complains of thirst.

But now as she lays next to him he holds onto her.

Her eyes remain on the ceiling, but his arm crosses over her chest. His eyes slide closed, and he falls in closer, head resting against hers. His chest brushes her arm, and his hand clasps her waist.

She admits to herself that she likes the closeness. The pressure of his thigh against her hip. The tickle of his breath on her neck as he falls into a deeper slumber.

And she breaks her word as her eyes shut and she drifts away.

___

The next morning she feels cold. Elena opens her eyes and sees Sam already up and sitting at the edge of the bed. He'd traded his rumpled tank for a button-down, and was adjusting a tie around his neck.

"Thought you said you wouldn't sleep," he says when he notices her open eyes. He looks at her fleetingly before turning his attention back to his clothes.

"I don't know how that happened."

"Well, it's good you got some rest before today," he says, tugging at the tie. "Remember--"

"Keep him under control. I know." She says, rolling out of bed and moving to stand in front of him.

"And do it fast," he says. "If you blow this--"

"Yeah, yeah we'll have Crowley and Dean and all of Hell up our asses." Elena swats his hands away and yanks him by the tie, causing him to stumble and hunch over slightly as she ties it for him.

She looks up at his serious face - his eyebrows low with a small frown - and she just can't help it. She gets on her toes and brings her lips to his cheek. He stiffens, clearly surprised, but seemingly by pure instinct he turns into her so that her kiss lands on his lips.

A lightness that Elena hadn't felt in a long time flutters in her stomach.

He pulls away quickly, cheeks red. He clears his throat, "Uh, well you - I mean, maybe - I guess you should probably get, uh, going."

Elena laughs, a wide, uncharacteristic smile playing at her lips. "As you wish, boss."

~~~

Elena pushes the door open, the stench of alcohol bombarding her the minute she steps in. She's wearing no disguise today. No cologne. No tight or baggy clothes.

Her eyes quickly find him. His mouth is agape with roaring laughter as the bartender waves a glass at him in mock anger.

When she makes her way to the bar she keeps her eyes off of Dean, using only her periferal vision to gage his movements.

"Can I help you, miss?" The bartender asks, an open smile on his face with freckles burning his cheeks. He shelves the glass that's in his hand. She clears her throat, reaching in herself for the Elena Gilbert that she'd tried so hard to tuck away.

"Yes, I'm looking for a job." She pulls out a folded resume from her pocket. "Sorry, I didn't mean to fold it, it just looked like it was about to rain --"

He raises a hand, halting her speech. "We don't really do resumes here."

She lowers the piece of paper, "How about an interview?"

He takes a breath, an apologetic tilt of his lips making it clear what he's about to say. "Look," he says, "You seem like a nice girl, but this really doesn't seem like the place for you."

She squares her shoulders and crosses her arms, "Are you saying you don't need any help?"

He scoffs, "Are you kidding? We always need help, this is a bar. It doesn't exactly attract long-term employees." He gestures to the long line of glasses still in need of cleaning. "Not to mention the fact that people are clearly unaware of our nation's debt and continue to spend more money on a drink than their own children--"

"Then interview me," she says, stopping him before he goes too far off topic.

He hesitates, "I'm telling you this place is full of bad seeds, darling." He glances at Dean, "No offense."

Elena finally turns to look at him, meeting eyes more steady than flat water. He smirks, his body slouched in his seat as his long arm stretches to tap a finger on his drink, "None taken."

"I appreciate the gallantry, really," Elena says to the man dryly. "But I just need a job."

He sighs and looks at her, eyes pained and apologetic. "I can't. You'd get torn apart your first hour."

She suppresses a groan. He's too damn good for this business. With reluctance, she stares into his eyes. "Please. I need a job. Just give me a chance."

His warm eyes go hazy, then he says, "Well, I suppose we could give it a shot."

"Thank you so much," Elena says, her face brightening. "I'll work hard."

"Right," he says, still looking mildly confused. "Um, start tomorrow?"

"Sounds good to me."

He nods, then walks to the other end of the bar to tend to his other customers. Elena smiles, stuffing away her fake resume and taking a seat. She can still feel Dean's sharp eyes on her and tries to ignore it.

"That was something," he steps into the silence. "If you talked to him a bit longer Pat might've given you his job."

Elena tosses him a laugh. "He seems like a really nice guy, that's all. He felt bad for me--"

"You know he's married, right?" He asks, flicking his beer. The glass rings. The darkness in his stare deepens, pushing against her like a tidal wave. Aggressively curious and testing her boundaries. "Happily married. Won't do you any good flirting with him."

Her face is still as blank as a cloudless sky, "I just wanted a job."

"Right," Dean says with a skeptical chuckle. "You know there's a strip joint about two blocks down. Better tips." His eyes lock onto hers, measuring her reaction.

Elena keeps her voice steady despite her desire to slit his throat. She knows what he's doing. She'd forced her way into his bubble, voluntarily throwing herself into dark waters. His dark waters.

So she asks, "You think I'd fare better stripping?"

"Among other things." His eyes don't leave hers, probing her further, scratching at her skin to get a look underneath.

"I'll be sure to consider it if the bartending gig doesn't work out." She flashes him a blindingly fake smile, pretending that his quip flew straight over her head.

Then he surprises her as the corner of his mouth tilts upward as if he can't help it, a look of deep satisfaction in the spark of his eyes. His voice extends a challenge towards her, "We'll see then, won't we?"

____

Sure enough, she starts work the next day. She shadows Pat, watching as he serves each customer. Like he'd said, the majority are of the unwholesome variety, wandering in half drunk to begin with and dragging in every stench known to mankind. However, much to Pat's delight, she picks up most things relatively quickly and is altogether unbothered by the crowd. Only a time or two had she mixed up an order, not that the customers had even noticed.

As Pat warned, men had tried to tear her apart, with both words and hands. But the words had somehow bounced off of her and many times came back at them with even more force. Hands had resulted in much more pain than the men had bargained for. By hour three no man attempted to slander her, and those who came in later would have to be blind to miss the bubble of space around her that was left untouched.

Elena is busy mixing a drink when her ears pick up a familiar sound just outside the bar. The distant smell of leather and lingering whiskey signals her before he walks in.

"Dean-o," Pat greets from across the room.

Dean nods then asks, "Oh come on Pat, do you ever take a day off?" He plants himself at the main bar a ways down from Elena as Pat moves to prepare him his usual drink.

"Nope," he says with a bark of laughter. He lowers his voice in a teasing way, "But I think I just might consider it now that I have a trusty employee to take care of my Baby."

Dean just barely glances her way before saying, "If this bar is your baby, Pat, then I'm sorry for your wife."

Another laugh, "Such is life, Dean-o."

Dean grins wryly, this time looking directly at her when he asks the question, "So has the new recruit been ripped to shreds as promised?"

"Far from it," Pat says, placing fresh whiskey in front of Dean. He leans closer to speak softly, but Elena still gets every word, "I left for a second and came back to find a customer with a broken nose and a sprained wrist."

"Huh," Dean says, a laugh threatening to break free. "I'll be damned."

Elena almost laughs at the irony of his statement before remembering that she's not supposed to be able to hear them. Thinking that she's made too strong an impression too soon, she clears her throat and calls down the bar at them, "Can I get you anything, Deano? That's your name, right?"

Pat guffaws, throwing his head back. After a shake of the shoulders he says to her, "I got him his regular, Darling, don't worry. And his name's Dean."

"Oh," she says with a soft, apologetic smile, "Sorry."

Dean just stares at her silently. Elena stares back, her eyes innocent and filled with baby ducklings and rainbows and marshmallows. She can't quite tell if he's bought it or not.

Pat whispers to him, "I'm telling you, Dean-o, that one's a keeper."

Dean scoffs, stealing his gaze from her and turning back to his friend, "You know that from barely a day's work?"

He shrugs, "I've an eye for judging that kind of thing."

"She could be playing you."

"Yeah? For what, my massive fortune?"

In the corner of her eye Elena sees Dean shrug and remain silent. He has no answer.

"You need to stop being so paranoid," Pat says, giving Dean a hard shove. "She's harmless as long as you keep from groping her."

As if realizing how ridiculous he's being, Dean laughs, shaking his head. "You're right. Don't know what I'm thinking."

Pat raises an eyebrow, "Crowley working you to the bone?"

Dean exhales, "He sure thinks he is."

"Lord rue the day that I ever cross that man's path," Pat says, shaking his head.

"Nah, he wouldn't come down here," Dean says, much to Elena's relief, but offers no explanation. "Which is fine by me as long as I keep getting paid."

 _Yeah, in people ripe for killing,_ Elena thinks. She grabs a towel to wipe down a spill, thinking that for once she hopes that she's wrong about something. That Dean still has something left in him to save.

\- - -

She locks the bar doors with a click. She's shoving her keys away and making her way down the deserted street when movement catches her attention. The dawn light seeps into the cool air and Elena sees Dean walking in her direction. Her gaze is drawn to where he comes from, a small alleyway in which another man emerges from. He steps out skittishly, eyes darting in every direction as if ninjas might descend on him at any moment.

She and Dean pass each other, their eyes connecting each other only briefly before Dean continues his lazy walk past her. She glances back, waiting until he turns the corner. When he's gone and the sound of him no longer reaches her ears, her focus zeroes in on the man from the alleyway.

His silent steps lurk away from her, his nervous gaze still peering left and right cautiously. She keeps her head down, her hair shielding part of her face.

She tails him for nearly ten minutes before he picks up on her. He'd finally had the foresight to look behind him and spot her. His body goes stiff and he increases his speed.

 _Great_ , she thinks, bracing herself.

She hears the click before anything else.

He spins around, whipping out his gun and pointing it directly at her.

Her eyes widen innocently and her hands go up.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir," she says, voice shaking. "I-I'm just walking home."

When his gun doesn't lower she inwardly curses, then asks, "Do you want money? I'll give you money. Please, just don't shoot me."

He hesitates, panic causing his stubbled chin to quiver. "You were following me?"

"No!" She says. "I'm only walking home, I swear." With some effort she lets a tiny, frightened tear leak from the corner of her eye. "Please don't shoot me!" I swear to God if this guy blows my cover-

"But you saw," he says. His arm straightens as he regains his resolve. She sees the muscle in his jaw contract. "You saw me with him."

Elena moves a tiny step closer, searching his eyes for anything her compulsion can grasp upon. Instead she finds the steady blackness of a demon.

Irritation thins her lips. No compulsion? No problem.

"With who?" She asks, feeling her attempt at fear play across her face. "Look, I didn't see anything I swear! I was playing Candy Crush this whole time, look--"

"Don't you move!" The demon snaps. His finger presses into the trigger.

Her previous irritation intensifies. Her patience burns out and she drops her hands along with her pretenses. "Look, sir, I'm really trying to work with you here, but you're making it impossible for yourself."

Thrown, the demon stutters, "What?"

Elena sighs. "If you're gonna shoot me, do it. I don't feel like standing here the whole night waiting for you to decide."

She moves towards him, causing his eyes to bug out and he squeezes the trigger. Sharp pain rips through her chest as the smell of her own blood taints the air instantly. She cries out, gritting her teeth, but she doesn't fall. He'd narrowly missed her heart.

The demon backs away. "What are you?"

She stabs her fingers into the wound, digging for the bullet. When the metal edge meets her fingers she yanks it out, releasing a long held exhale, and chucks the bullet at him.

He lets out a small sound of surprise, then fires three more bullets into her. BANG,BANG,BANG. One in her neck and two in her chest. She feels hot blood gushing from her. An excruciating burn swallows her body.

It takes fifteen seconds for her to start to feel the wounds spitting out the bullets and for the pain to fade.

"Now those last three were just unecessary," she says, agitated.

Out of ideas, the demon just whirls around and bolts, footsteps clapping loudly in the empty street.

Elena catches up to him in a matter of seconds. He screeches to a stop as her hands close in on either side of his face. She pulls sharply to the side, and his neck snaps, his body flopping to the floor.

She sighs and pulls out her phone. It takes a few tries because of the blood on her hands but she finally dials the number.

" _Hello_?" Sam answers.

"Hey, Sam," she says, voice chipper. "I'm gonna need your help with a cleanup."

* * *

 


	5. Already Broken

"So who were the condoms for?" Sam asks grumpily as he lifts the unconscious body onto his shoulder. Early morning gold begins to creep across the sky, defrosting the cold blue.

The second he'd arrived he'd lectured her for a solid five minutes on her reckless behavior. Then they'd spent another three bickering about what to do with the body, and another two with Sam just staring at her in utter frustration. The silence had danced between them for a moment longer before, with a spark of gold flashing in his eyes, Sam had finally blurted the first question that had been lurking on his tongue.

Elena rolls her eyes. "I thought you said you wouldn't ask."

"Well, now I wanna know."

"They're for Dean's lady friends," Elena answers breezily. "I stick them in their pockets before I send them his way."

He snorts loudly. "There are so many things wrong with that. You compel them to act interested in him? Dean's gonna be so pissed if he finds out."

Elena glances at him. She spots a ghost of relief in the corner of his mouth as the demon sways against his newly healed arm.

"You know, I already told you that they weren't for me," she says. Elena can still see the shadow of their last goodbye pressing against Sam's back as he looks at her with those uncertain eyes.

"Oh, I know," he says, "But you lie sometimes."

She scoffs, "I don't lie to you, do I?"

"If that's true, why is that?" He lugs the demon down to the Impala. He pops the trunk open with his foot, nearly losing his balance, and rather indelicately dumps the body in. It lands with a muffled thud. He snaps the trunk closed and that ghost becomes a living smile as he considers her curiously.

She shrugs, eyeing the minute hand on the clock tower down the street. She has about four hours until it's time to open the bar again. "I don't have any reason to."

"You don't have any reason not to."

She sighs, recognizing the familiar shift in their conversation in which all of Sam's leftover, unasked questions find an opening and swarm. "You're doing the thing again."

"What?" His voice neutralizes, as if he'd already detected his error. "What thing?"

"The pushing thing." She says. He looks down at her with cautious eyes, the eyes of someone who fears they'd just spooked a skittish child. She hates those eyes. This isn't how she wants to leave things with him.

So she does her best to crack a smile. He deserves that much. She gestures to the trunk. "Just interrogate him when he wakes up."

Relief loosens his face and he mirrors her smile, although she suspects his to be much more genuine. She feels a fluttering in her gut. The butterflies escape and fly loose in her stomach.

"He's a nervous one so take advantage of that," she hurries on, ignoring the amused twinkle in his eyes as he sees God knows what on her face that he finds so enjoyable. "As soon as you find out what kind of deal he was making just text me. And this is probably the last time we can meet like this or someone might see us," His smile grows bigger as she frowns, "and for the love of God don't reinjure your arm--"

Sam cuts her short, grabbing her face with both hands and kissing her. The butterflies flap faster. Fear and confusion and, most prominently of all, glee, flicker in and out like a feeble flame waiting to be lit.

Once he lets go he takes one look at her stunned expression and laughs. Elena can only stare as he smirks and she can't for the life of her find where all his anger had gone.

"That's for surprising me last time," he says before stepping away from her. "And Elena," He adds while getting into the driver's seat, "Don't tell me what to do."

* * *

Over the next few days Elena keeps a close watch on the comings and goings of hell's rats. Deals are made in the bar right in front of her. Souls being traded for fleeting riches. Loved ones traded for superficial fame. She doesn't know how anyone can stomach it.

In her days with Crowley she'd always hated that part. The killing she could deal with. But watching people expose the ugliest, most vulnerable parts of themselves and giving up every ounce of freedom they still owned for green paper? She had to look away.

But now, with Sam breathing down her neck, Crowley close behind, and Dean two steps away from tearing his humanity to shreds, Elena has to stare ugly in the face.

The day had been running rather slowly as another deal unfolds in front of her, this one being particularly difficult to ignore with a red-eyed demon and his client being the only customers populating the bar.

"Two?" The woman asks for the third time. Her waxy red hair is blinding, but still unable to distract from wide blue eyes that are screaming with desperation.

The demon seated across from her sighs, leaning back. "Honey, I'm being generous."

"But," she bites her lip, "I have a daughter-"

"I'm incapable of pity, just so you know. Daughter or no daughter it's two years max."

The woman makes a pathetic whimpering noise. "Well then, I suppose I'll have to t-take it-"

"Excuse me," Elena says, advancing toward their table and stepping to block her from the demon's view. "Sir, I'm afraid we don't allow solicitation in here."

He meets her eyes with a lift of a brow, scoffing, "Oh yeah? Since when?"

"Since now." She turns to the woman, "Get out of here."

"Oh, but-"

"Out."

The woman looks from her to the red-eyed demon, seemingly trying to decide which she is most afraid of. She chooses the demon, remaining in her seat.

"You must be new," Red Eyes says to Elena. "This here is where I do business. Always has been."

"Don't care." She fixes him with a burning look. "Get out of here before I call the police."

The demon grins condescendingly, doing his absolute best to make her feel like a child out of her depth. "Okay," he says, getting to his feet. "Just for you, darling. But you'll be seeing me again, don't you worry."

As he leaves Elena brings a fierce attention back to the woman who nearly shrinks beneath it.

"Get out of here," Elena says with a threat laced into her words. "Go be with your daughter and never come back here."

She watches as the door clinks closed behind the woman. Her blur of hair swishes red behind her. When Elena looks back on that moment, she likes to think that she risked her life because the woman listened to her. Because from that point on her daughter might be safe in her mother's arms.

____

On her twelfth night at the bar at the ungodly hour when the place is scarcely even fit for ghost, Dean drags himself in looking like a sick dog. Although saying that he falls in seems more accurate. He hasn't bothered changing his clothes since their last encounter and he reeks of blood. Elena curls her lip.

Questions are ready to leap from her mouth until a deliberate lift of his stormy gaze to hers silences them.

His irises are clouded with stifled bloodlust. She looks from his eyes to his hands. Bruised. Cracked bloody. She wonders who he killed today. The mental image of the distraught face Sam would have at this news makes the decision for her. She won't tell him unless it's absolutely necessary.

"Are you gonna get me a drink, or what?" He asks, the hoarseness of his voice coming through quietly.

Her hand disappears under the counter for a second, feeling for the familiar cold surface, then reemerges with the special bottle of Dean's favorite whiskey that Pat always keeps within reach.

Elena quickly pours him a glass, the ice making vibrant music in the quiet room. She feels his eyes on her again and she wonders how much the red-eyed demon had told him about her interference the other day. If he'd even told him anything at all.

She clears her throat in an effort to snap him out of his trance, nudges the glass to him, and meets his green gaze. This time she finds a small smile waiting. His handsome features suddenly seem like an oasis amidst the ugliness of their environment. A predator hypmotizing its prey until the alcoholic fog finally engulfs her.

But she'll be damned if she lets herself be the prey.

She doesn't look away when he reaches across the counter to take it, not even when his fingers touch hers in the transfer. A flicker of pleasure crawls across his mouth before he lets out breathy laugh.

"You're a tough one to crack, aren't you?"

She almost laughs. "Don't waste your time trying then."

His eyelids look thick with exhaustion despite the newly formed smirk he offers her in reply. "What's your name, again?"

"Elena." She responds, confident that Crowley's habit of avoiding everything about this disgusting place will prevent him from ever hearing of her.

"Hmm," Dean grunts with another amused smile. He observes her a moment, then asks, "You sure?"

She restrains an eye roll. "You need to check my birth certificate?"

He shrugs, "I'm just curious. Most people in this hell-hole don't bother with a real name. Now, I've heard a lot of ridiculous names in my time but what I found was that the most normal names turn out to be the most fake."

"It isn't a fake name," she insists.

There's a glint in his eyes as he says, "Of course not." He takes another swig of whiskey, his adam's apple shifting as he swallows. He places the drink back onto the bar, and for a moment he just watches the light twinkle through the glass.

Well, damnit. Elena lets out a huff, "But?"

He looks up. "What?"

She rolls her eyes this time. "I hear a giant 'but' in there somewhere."

He laughs, surprising her with its genuine ring and the tired crinkle of humor around his eyes. "You got me. I was gonna say that your name might be real but you're definitely hiding something."

"What makes you say that?" She asks with more irritation than she'd intended.

He eyes her happily as if glad for a diversion. "For starters, you haven't even hit on me yet."

"I must be delirious."

"Damn right." He flashes a devilish grin.

She's unable to resist granting him a half smile. "Is that all?"

"Second," he continues, leaning in, "You somehow get every customer who walks through those doors to respect you." The slight lift of the word 'respect' gives her the impression that he knows more about her little run in with Red-Eyes than he's letting on. She hurries to move past it.

"What about you?" She asks, spinning the spotlight back onto him. "Do people here respect you?"

"Do you?" He asks, slapping it away from him and back onto her.

She hesitates, then says evenly, "You're a violent drunk. I make it a habit not to respect violent drunks."

He leans back in his chair, a tight smile on his lips. She searches his face for anger or hurt, but finds only his eyes searching hers right back. "That brings me to the third."

She lifts an eyebrow, "Yes?"

"You aren't scared of me."

She stills for a minute. Then she finds herself asking, "Should I be?"

"Only if you get on my bad side," he says dryly, as if it's a threat he's bored of repeating. His eyes flick to her face and he slides his empty glass towards her. "Refill."

She does, this time averting her eyes so not to encourage him to attempt to decipher her further. Whether the ploy is effective or it just serves to entice him more, Elena can't tell.

She watches him as he downs the second drink, witnessing the sad shift in his face from his happy distraction to the posture of a man with weights chained to his ankles. His smile fades into a hardened grimace. It's only when he releases a tense exhale, wafting his musky scent towards her, that Elena is reminded of the blood stains coloring his shirt.

She swallows, the metallic stench like cement on her tongue.

"Ever heard of laundry detergent?" She asks, finding another tumbler and pouring herself a drink. "Or maybe water? It's great stuff. You should try it sometime."

His wandering gaze returns to her. For a moment he looks surprised. Then, almost as quickly, every trace of unease evaporates. "Why use that crap when I have fresh blood and whiskey?"

"See," Elena starts, clinking her glass with his, "I can tell you meant that as a joke, but you might wanna dial that back when talking with normal people."

He chuckles, "So you're not normal?"

"That's not what I said," she gives him a cheeky grin. "And would you quit trying to get to know me? God, you're desperate for friends."

Shaking his head, he says, "I have blood all over my shirt and you're criticizing my hygiene." He taps his glass, gesturing for more whiskey.

Elena spills some down her throat, smacks her lips, and winces.

"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," she complains, pushing her half-filled glass aside but tipping the rest of the bottle into Dean's. It's just potent enough to muddle the smell of blood.

"Yeah," he says. "That's why it works."

She glances at him as he swallows a hearty mouthful. Then she sees it. Just a glimmer of what Crowley keeps him around for and what Sam wants back. A sweetness. A humor. A goofy, lopsided smile that hides behind cold green eyes and a bloodied shirt.

"You know what normal is around here?" He continues, unaware of her revelation. "People who are either hiding, wasting their life away, or trying to kill someone." He stops then adds, "And of course there's the hookers." He looks at her, one corner of his mouth pulling up playfully, "Which one are you, sweetheart?"

"Guess."

He searches her face for a moment, his stare lazy with alcohol. "I think you're a killer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." He leans in closer, as if to scrutinize her face further. The sweet smell of whiskey drifts to her nose. "Takes one to know one."

Elena shrugs, "Sorry, no prize for you."

"Oh, I'm right."

Internally, she senses her opportunity to dangle the bait. She shakes her head. "I'm a hooker. You get points for trying, though."

At that he looks genuinely stumped. A sharpness returns to his expression. "There's no way. I call bullshit."

"Why would I lie?"

Dean stares Elena full in the face, a wide, alert clarity in his eyes. Without breaking eye contact he reaches for her unfinished glass and brings it to his lips. His mouth covers her lipstick stain as the liquid flows onto his tongue. He swallows, licks his lips, and places the glass back onto the bar.

With one finger, Dean beckons for her to lean in closer and she does. Up close she can see the line of his jaw as it leads down to his neck. The freckles on his nose. The smell of blood mixes with the heavy scent of Dean himself, and it wraps itself around her like a snake. His breath heats her lips as he says, "How about we go to my place and find out if you're telling the truth?"

Hook, line, and sinker.

Elena pulls back, running a hand through her hair. "I might have to take a rain check."

He laughs darkly, his eyes shifting to a wild evergreen. "I will take you up on that." And he leans back, a smile in his eyes. "You better be ready for when I do."

___

Most of their days and nights are filled with fruitless banter, with Dean's questions circling around her but never finding the need to land. Other days they would remain in comfortable silence, drinking and enjoying the other's presence. He never pushes her for answers, mostly because he's the type to enjoy the pleasure of a good chase, a mystery, without ever wanting to know the actual truth. The truth means committing to one thing and he isn't up for that.

She doesn't know when or how it had happened, but somewhere between the haze of alcohol and blood Elena had grown to like Dean. She chalks it up to the fact that a person can only spend so much time breathing the same air as someone until they grow used to the space the other takes up around them every day. In the bar stool. At the corner booth. By the rusty jukebox.

And as much as Elena would like to believe in her acting ability, she can't shake the feeling that Dean had her pegged from the moment he set eyes on her. Of course he never says anything hinting at that, not like the other night, but he insinuates it with every smile he sends her way. It's like a secret smile, one only they can share. It's a smile that says, I see you.

"As far as I can tell he has the entire state of Florida in his back pocket," she tells Sam, keeping her eyes on a box of chocolate chip cookies that is calling to her. "I hear he's looking to take New Orleans."

From the next aisle over she hears Sam shuffle impatiently, a box of cupcake mix being the unlucky victim of his agitation as he slams it to the side in his pretense of shopping for baking goods. It's early in the morning. So early that only one or two other customers populate the tiny store, leaving them in relative isolation. But they'd agreed that they could never be too careful.

"What the hell is Crowley thinking?" He mutters through his teeth.

She picks up the cookies, flipping it over and squinting at the nutrition facts. "That hell needs souls and the easiest way to get them is to trick them out of desperate suckers."

"No, I mean--" there is a crash as he accidentally knocks into a pack of spatulas. "Why Dean? Why give him all this power?"

"He likes to think he can buy his friends," Elena says, bored. "But Crowley still has his ways of keeping him in check. He always does." She scoffs. Some friendship.

"You gonna elaborate?" Sam asks. She spins round, pretending to contemplate the shelf of cereal boxes behind her. Through the gaps she can see Sam's tall figure listening intently. She can almost make out the puppy dog eyes.

"For starters that bar is basically the armpit of the south. And he gives him the shittiest henchmen." Elena runs her fingers along the boxes. "Can't make deals for crap."

Sam pauses thoughtfully. "I guess that's a good thing."

"It is," Elena says. "Until Dean feels the need to take matters into his own hands. Make deals himself. Take souls himself. If that Mark is as thirsty as you say it is . . . " She sighs, noticing his strained silence. She decides to change the subject, "How's our little devil doing?"

"Well, you were right," he says fiddling with a price tag. "He gave everything up. Turns out he was a crossroads demon. He was making a deal with Dean for his freedom."

She freezes, "What? That's impossible."

"Apparently not."

"What was the price?"

Sam's voice is thick with disgust, "Fresh kills. You heard about that prison massacre on the news a couple days ago?"

Elena closes her eyes. That was the night they first talked. He'd come into the bar covered in blood.

"And he said some other things," Sam continues, his former agitation intensifying. "About you."

Her blood runs cold. "Oh, yeah?" She gives up her search for cereal altogether.

"He said that he recognized you from some pictures," Sam says quietly. "Pictures from Crowley."

Elena is silent.

"He said that Crowley's searching for you," he continues, voice thick. "That the only reason you're still alive right now is because he'd rather find you himself than send the hounds."

She doesn't respond. An all too familiar feeling in her gut tugs at her, begging for her to run.

"Elena?" Sam's voice wades through her thoughts. "Did you hear me? Crowley--"

"It isn't anything I don't already know, Sam." Her lips pinch together.

"Elena," he tries again, "If these pictures get back to Dean, you're screwed."

"Don't worry about that right now."

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to worry about then? What am I supposed to do?" Sam hisses. "Am I supposed to just sit in my hotel room twiddling my thumbs while you're over there making eyes at my brother?"

"We planned the eye making together remember? Seduce, weaken, and grab. That was the plan."

Sam draws in a tense breath. "Yeah, well there a lot of things going on right now that we didn't plan, Elena."

Elena sighs, knowing that her next words are going to sting them both. "Sam," she says, "I think you're letting your feelings for me get in the way of what we're doing here."

She senses him freeze behind the shelf. "You think I have feelings for you?"

A woman in the aisle with Elena stops and raises two judgmental eyebrows at her. Elena smiles and says to her, "We're rehearsing for a play." As soon as she grabs her items and disappears Elena lowers her voice, huffing. "Sam, the situation is complicated."

"Complicated? Elena, we are so far past complicated." He gives up the pretense of being a stranger and storms into the aisle to face her. She purses her lips in displeasure as he steps in, closing the space around her.

"You don't trust me," she concludes.

His jaw clenches. "I think you're taking your damn time with him. I think you're risking an awful lot being someone who claims not to care for anyone but yourself. I think you're messing with me and my feelings just like you did with Crowley." He lets out a short, bitter sound, "God, you don't even have feelings, so what gives you the right to--"

"How many times do you have to bring that up?" she demands. "Why does that get so deep under your skin?"

Sam throws his hands up. "I don't know, Elena. Maybe you're right. Maybe I just don't trust you."

"You're just as bad as him, you know that?" Elena says, shaking her head. "You and your brother are the masters of denial. All you two do is give half answers and false truths and you accuse me of being untrustworthy."

"You know what I want, Elena. You know I'm human. You know I feel things and you know how to make me feel things," he says in a low voice. "And you just play with me like I'm food. You have no heart."

Elena feels a burning in her chest that she hasn't felt in a long time. She swallows, "Fair enough, Sam. You're going through an emotional time right now. But just so you know if you were anyone else you'd be dead."

"Oh, how refreshing," Sam says bitterly. "That you would think to stop yourself from hurting me." His eyes pierce her with something of an angry challenge in them, filled with fire and hurt all at once.

"What is it exactly that you want me to do, Sam?" Her eyes cling to his, unwilling to let go until he backs down. "What more can I do for you? Any other family members you need saving?"

"You know there's only one person I care about," he says with harsh bite, perhaps hoping that it would somehow penetrate her hard flesh. He watches her, waiting to see how the words land but they only serve to frustrate her more.

"Then what?" she goes on, "Should I stop working at the bar? Should I work more hours at the bar? Why not just throw myself straight into Dean's bed then? You never know. Things might just go a hell of a lot faster if I just sleep with him right now."

At that he flinches and steps forward. There is an impassioned rigidness in his jaw that silences her. He says nothing but his eyes are shouting as if his brother's name on her lips had jarred something loose in him. Elena swallows, searching his face. For once she can't read him at all past his darkened eyes.

She sucks in a ragged breath and those eyes drop from her eyes to her parted lips.

His fingers grip her shoulders, pressing into her skin and causing a whip of electricity to strike her nerves. He forces her back into the shelves with a succinct rattle and crash.

"Is that what you think I want?" he asks, quietly searching. "For you to sleep with my brother?"

She meets his eyes, finding every emotion that she repels layered and displayed beautifully across his face. With every miniscule movement from the pained tilt of his brows to the subtle dart of the tongue across his lips, nothing beats her down like the raging storm staring at her through his eyes. A wild mess of humanity thundering right in front of her.

She lets out the breath. "I think that you don't know what you want."

He looks her directly in the eyes. "No," he says evenly. "I know exactly what I want."

She swallows when he leans in, forcefully stealing what breath she has left and closes his mouth around hers. His tongue pushes past her lips and clashes with her teeth. Lips are stiff, angry, nearly splitting hers. She hooks a leg around him and he grunts, thrusting his hips closer and holding tighter as if letting go means forfeiting. A soft moan leaves her mouth as the kiss deepens. She inhales sharply, smelling the subtle smell of pine combined with hotel soap. Sam's breathing intensifies, morphing into short, heavy groans. The sound is maddening in her ears, causing heat to bloom between her legs.

The loud, abrupt squeak of an off-balance shopping cart causes them to jump. Then Sam pulls his lips from her and stumbles backward. Panting, they stare at each other. Sam's dark eyes nearly swallow her whole.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, voice low and hoarse. The rasp nearly drives her mad.

Elena stops herself from touching the tips of her fingers to her lips in an effort to replace what he'd left behind. She shakes her head, "You did that."

He looks away from her, half angry and half bewildered. Elena can't help but crack a small, short smile at his disheveled hair and expression of utter surprise. Whether it's at her or himself, she can't tell.

The person who'd wheeled past them, an elderly woman with a hearing aid now three aisles over, is completely oblivious to what she'd just interrupted.

Sam's glance catches the clock. "You should be getting back." He blinks and she can still hear the thumping in his chest. He quickly turns to leave but Elena stops him with a hand grasping for his jacket sleeve.

"Hey," she says, unable to read the air. They've fought badly a hundred times before but this time feels new, like something between them had just cracked open. "I'll see you tonight." She's surprised at the uncertainty in her voice.

She hears his heart thump again, and he turns to look at her. He rolls his eyes. It's an endearing, ardent, almost smirking eye-roll that says, whether this is the fifth fight or the five thousandth, the answer will always be yes. It feels so earnest that it hurts her.

Despite the lingering conflict in his face, she lets him go, watching his back as the distance between them widens. Her chest is fluttering with a happy weightlessness that sits inside her like a wrongly placed puzzle piece.

It takes Elena a few moments to pinpoint the foreign feeling. It isn't until she's completely alone, thinking about the way his lips touch hers, or the way his fresh absence frustrates her, that she realizes that the feeling runs dangerously close to love.

___

"There are just a few rules," Pat says to her as they lean their heads together over the sink. He's elbow-deep in soapy water while she rinses and dries the dishes. "One: Don't talk to the guys Dean brings in unless they ask you a question. And even then keep it to a grunt or a one word answer."

"Am I allowed to breathe?"

He gives her a look of warning, poking her with a sudsy finger, "Two: Don't get in Dean's way. Nothing good will come of it, you hear?"

Elena laughs, "Yes, I can hear you."

"Good," he raises an eyebrow, "And I can feel you mocking me so I'm going to skip to the last one and hope you're not stupid enough to mess shit up."

She smiles. "Thank you."

"The last rule," he says, leaning closer to her and lowering his voice, "Do not open the back dumpster. Ever. Don't go back there, don't look at it, don't think about it. Leave it alone."

"Got it," she says. "Talk whenever I feel like it, bother Dean as much as possible, and check the back dumpster every ten minutes--"

"You're not funny," he says, splashing soapy water at her. Bubbles float and latch onto her hair and face.

She giggles, then snatches the sink's nozzle with threatening eyes. "Don't start something you can't finish, Pat."

His eyes widen, "Now look here, I am your boss--"

She squeezes the trigger and a swift stream of water pelts him in the face. He yelps, snatching the nearest weapon - a sponge. He whips it at her, nailing her in the chest with a slap. It isn't until they are both soaked in soapy water that the hear the kitchen door thunk open, revealing a pair of displeased green eyes.

Elena shuts off the water and Pat immediately looks shamed, freckles reddening. Dean stares at them passively with crossed arms. The only hint of annoyance lies in his finger, which taps with rigid tension.

"Some drinks, Pat. For three."

"Right," Pat grabs a towel and makes a hasty attempt at drying himself before speeding out the door.

As it shuts, Dean's eyes narrow on her. "You seem . . . happy."

She shrugs, "I guess."

He raises an eyebrow. "What? No sarcasm today?"

She just smiles at him, "Would you like some?"

The lightness of this response seems to cause Dean more alarm because he makes a disturbed face and jabs a finger at the door, "Just get out there help Pat. And quit acting weird."

When she enters the bar she's met with the familiar smug eyes of the red-eyes demon. He drags his eyes over her, leering. Next to him is another demon she recognizes from previous visits to the bar. His stare is no less invasive.

Dean moves past her, nearly pushing her in Pat's direction in the process as he begins loudly, "So, Crowley said there was an issue with jurisdiction?"

Red-Eyes rips his glare from her and places it on Dean. "It was my understanding that I was to inherit this territory."

"You understood wrong," Dean says, taking a seat across from them. Elena sets out the glasses as Pat follows close behind with a pitcher of icy beer. "If you have a problem with it, take it to Crowley."

Elena frowns slightly at the name. She hears the phone ring faintly, and Pat nods for her to take the pitcher as he disappears into the kitchen to answer it. Elena takes the opportunity to sneak a couple pictures of the meeting to Sam.

"Look, Winchester," Red-Eyes goes on. "You were a hunter what, a few months ago? It seems to me that you haven't been in the business that long. Now, the way I was brought up, we had to earn our spot in hell. I did the work. Ninety years, Winchester. That's how long I've been working for this."

"Like I said," Dean replies flatly. "Take it to Crowley." When the demon only scowls, Dean lets out a short laugh. "Oh, but you already did, didn't you?" He makes no reply, and Dean luaghs again.

He pounds a fist into the table, "I'm not takin' orders from some punk kid that Crowley picked up off the street," he says. "I'm ten times the demon you are and that son of a bitch gives you all my business--"

"Dude, only ten?" Dean tsks. "Aim higher, my friend."

This only causes his face to flush red and his teeth to bare, "This is my bar. That is my chair you're sitting on, and that's my beer you're drinking! I earned it--"

Elena moves to refill the other demon's glass and trips, making a not so subtle effort to tilt her pitcher in Red-Eye's direction. It splashes an obscene amount of beer into his lap.

"AARRGH!!!" He leaps to his feet, rage pointed directly at Elena. "YOU CLUMSY BITCH!"

"So sorry," Elena says. In the corner of her eye she sees Dean suppressing a laugh, eyes sparkling and lips pressed together.

He shoots her a withering look that would be frightening if he weren't so soaked. "Well, at least get me a goddamn towel."

"I'm sorry, we're out of towels," she says with a polite smile. Dean presses his mouth closed, blocking sound from escaping.

"You're out of towels?" He demands, "How can you possibly be out of towels--"

Her eyes widen innocently. "Well, we had towels and then we used them."

The demon steps closer to her, causing the entire room to go silent. His face is near enough for her to see his chipped tooth. "Do you take me for an idiot?"

Elena can't help herself and she snorts. The demon bares his teeth, looking ready to lunge and seize her. His hand barely touches her shoulder before he's yanked backwards. Dean's hand grips the demon by the arm, fingers like a claw.

His eyes are flat and steady, "Quit harrassing the help. It's pathetic."

The demon just barely snarls out a retort when Dean shoves him back into his seat. Red-Eyes keeps his fury directed at her but remains firmly seated. Dean meets her eyes for a second, quickly assessing her reaction. When he sees no sign of trauma Elena thinks she sees a flicker of pride in him before he says, "We'll take in from here. You can go."

Over the next few days Red-Eyes and his growing band of demons start to frequent the bar more and more. Despite Dean's approval of the way she'd handled them, Elena notices a clear effort by Dean to keep her at arm's length when it comes to their dealings. He only asks for Pat on those days, and through him tells her to take a day off. She can only assume that Red-Eyes had told Dean about the incident the day before and his growing trust in her had been put to a screeching halt.

If that's the case, Dean makes no sign of it in their time alone together. He makes jokes as always, laughing at her dryness and teasing her secrecy.

"I need to bait him harder," Elena decides, leaning her head onto Sam's shoulder. They lie in his motel room pressed together with Elena tucked against his chest and Sam's chin set atop her head.

Sam is quiet, as he usually is about Dean ever since that day at the grocery store. He moves to twist his fingers between hers. She waits as he squeezes and unsqueezes her hand . . . strokes her palm . . . measures their hands together. He smiles against her hair at how small hers look next to his.

He sighs, finding the stomach to finally ask, "Is he getting worse?"

Elena thinks about his steady control towards the red-eyed demon. She shakes her head, "He's getting stronger."

She feels his exhale against her hair. "Has he-" he pauses, hesitating. When he continues his voice sounds uncomfortable, "has he shown any interest in you?"

"You already know the answer to that, Sam," Elena says, holding his hand steady.

He swallows, then presses his lips to her head. He asks, "What are you planning?"

"I need to lean into the damsel-in-distress thing. He can't help himself," she says. "It's sweet. He saved me from one of his guys once."

Sam chuckles softly, "Like you couldn't handle him yourself."

"Well, he didn't know that."

"Just be careful." His sigh has an echo of sadness in it. "I guess if anyone can break his shell it's you."

Elena doesn't know what he means by that but Sam makes no attempt at elaborating. He wraps his arms tighter around her, as if to keep her as close as possible while he can.

___

Elena wakes up the next morning and Sam is gone. She blinks, going cross-eyed as she sees a post it stuck to her forehead. She laughs to herself, peeling it off.

_Elena,_

_I had to help a friend with a small case. I'll be back tonight. Sorry I couldn't see you go. But I guess you don't care for that kind of stuff anyway._

_Be careful today._

_\- Sam_

_P.S. - You sleep like a baby._

She grins, pressing the note to her lips once before rolling out of bed and tucking it into her purse.

___

The bar is packed when she walks in that afternoon. Drinks are being passed around, people are shouting and laughing, and she sees Pat with wide, stressed eyes as he takes orders. The red-eyed demon is in the center of it, gulping down a beer.

"I thought I told you to stay home today," she hears a voice ask. She turns, finding Dean looking at her with annoyance.

"You didn't," Elena replies. "Besides, it looks like Pat needs some help."

Dean grits his teeth slightly, eyes flitting from her to the crowd of rowdy demons. He releases an agitated sigh then grumbles, "Fine. Just stay out of everyone's way." He pushes past her and into the crowd.

Their meeting is long, and Elena waits for just the right opportunity. Dean is careful to block her advances, trying and just barely succeeding to hide his concern about her presence. So she watches from afar as Red-Eyes drinks more and more. Her eyes track his movements easily. He's slow, running his hand through his sandy blonde hair groggily.

She waits until Dean is too distracted to deflect her, arguing with yet another demon who is unhappy with his fraction of control in hell. Elena takes a breath, not liking at all what she's about to do but having confidence that it will pay off.

She strides over to Red-Eyes, heels clicking behind her. "Is there something else I can get you?" she asks.

Crimson meets brown, and the demon's lips stretch into a nasty grin. "Well if it isn't Miss Clutz."

She pushes on. "How about another drink?"

He looks around at his comrades and chuckles, then takes her by the hand, pulling her closer. "I could do with a lot of things right now, doll. We had a bad start, love, so why don't we start over? How 'bout a kiss?"

"No thanks," she says. In the corner of her eyes she loses Dean and inwardly curses.

Red-Eyes pulls her in by the waist, his face open and full of unrestrained lust. His hand slides down her back to her rear. She nearly vomits in her mouth and by pure instinct snatches his wrist and twists hard. Too hard apparently because she hears a crack. She lets go immediately, remembering herself.

The demon yelps and his other hand comes around and grasps her hair. He yanks and slams her head down to the table. The wood splinters from the force and her ears ring.

Cheers sound from around the room. Elena shouts as his grip on her hair tightens. His anger bursts from his throat and blasts into her ear in the form of a hundred curses. He shoves her face harder into the table. Wood pierces her skin and she can already feel the hot blood pooling into her eye.

"HEY!"

The room goes silent, and for a second Elena thinks that he's ruptured her ear drum. But she feels the demon release her and hears his footsteps retreat.

She stands, holding a hand over her wounded face, and sees Dean standing in the doorway with a cold, hardness in his eyes. He looks at her just once before saying, "Clean yourself up. Take the rest of the day off."

"But--"

"Pat," Dean calls, summoning Pat from the back room.

Pat emerges, a solemn expression dampening his usual smile. He takes her gently by the arm and tugs her towards the back.

Elena chances a glance backward, and finds Dean doing the same. Then she sees it - exactly what she'd hoped to find. A quick but potent flash of worry. For that short moment he radiates unbridled protectiveness. It reaches towards her as he physically blocks the rest of the room from looking at her. There is a fleeting, sharp tilt between his eyebrows and a panic in his usually flat gaze. But he shakes it quickly, turning back to his audience.

"Alright, where were we?" She hears Dean say as the door swings shut behind them.

"Oh, Darlin', what'd I tell you?" Pat hisses as soon as the door is completely shut. He sits her down and reaches for a washcloth.

"I'm not hurt," Elena says. She can already feel her skin stitching itself back together. "I just bleed easy."

Pat scoffs, "That won't help me sleep easier, Hon. Here." He tosses her the washcloth soaked in warm water. Elena sighs and cleans her face.

"I hope you know I didn't do a damn thing."

"I know," he says with a heavy exhale. He rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. "That man would've jumped the next hot-blooded thing that walked through the door."

"Should we test that theory?" She asks with a smirk.

"I'm not kidding around with you, Lena. You can't mess with these guys. If you get in their bad side you'll regret it for the rest of your life."

Too late, Elena thinks. She'd dealt with demons before, more than she ever wants to ever again. And she knows Crowley's type. He demands the loyal kind - the ones that follow his lead without question. But at the same time he wants intelligence and spark. Unfortunately, he can't have both.

"Does Dean always work with such stupid people?" She asks.

Pat frowns, "I wish I could say no."

Elena makes a small humph. "Well, I hope that whatever he needs from them is worth it."

Her phone buzzes, flashing "BFG" - Sam's caller ID. She excuses herself from the kitchen.

Sam greets her with less energy than she expects, and after she tells him of the small crack she made in Dean's armor his reaction is even less enthusiastic. It's a tone that stands in stark contrast with the note folded in her purse. It crosses her mind to wonder where he went today.

"I know what you're gonna say, Sam," she says curtly into her phone. "You want me to work my hoodoo faster, blah, blah, blah--"

"--because he's going to kill half the country before you get there," Sam snaps. "Sometimes I think you're way more interested in taking down Crowley's business than you are in Dean--"

"Hey, I'm doing exactly what we agreed on." Her voice cuts through his with something bordering on anger. She hears a heavy exhale.

"Elena," he says, his voice soft. "I can't give you more than a week. I can't take more than a week. I'm losing my mind." His voice nearly cracks and Elena's annoyance evaporates.

"He's your brother," is all she says. She doesn't quite know if she means it to be comforting or to justify his words because it comes out more like a statement of fact. "Okay then, one week."

He accepts it as comforting. "Thank you," he says. This time he hangs up first, ending the conversation with that uneven note of thanks.

Elena huffs, then stomps towards the back door, shoving it open. Instead of fresh air like she wants, she's hit with a wave of muggy heat. Restless, she makes her way to the back alley in search of less light and clearer air.

As soon as she reaches the dumpster, an awful stench swirls around her, but the air is much cooler.

"Can't have it all," she mutters to herself. She leans against the bar's brick wall and shuts her eyes. One week. Her deadline is one week and the sooner she pounds that into her brain the sooner she can force herself to remain unnattached--

"Shit, it stinks," she grumbles.

There's a sickening, metallic scent that reaches her nose and in her distraction she hadn't bothered trying to identify it. But now as her head clears the smell presses against her like an elephant.

"Oh," she hears herself blurt as her eyes settle on the dumpster sitting across from her. She approaches it, knowing full well what she's smelling but finds herself wanting to see it with her eyes.

She lifts the cover.

A set of paling red eyes stare blankly up at her. His mouth gapes open and blood stains his chest.

Elena gasps and shuts the dumpster, causing a loud slamming noise to echo.

"You know, you're not supposed to be back here."

Elena jumps and turns, finding Dean standing behind her. Moonlight touches his face in that annoying way as he stares down at her with one eyebrow raised.

"I needed some fresh air," she says flatly.

"I don't know if you noticed yet," he says with an easy grin, "But this air ain't fresh." His eyes slide from her to the dumpster, then back to her face, his sparkle of amusement thinly veiled.

Elena smiles back, the rotting smell of the corpse still lingering in her nose. "Did you need something? Or do you just like hanging out by garbage?"

"I was looking for you," he says.

She tilts her head to raise an eyebrow at him. "Are you gonna kill me and stuff me in a trash bag?"

But he doesn't miss a beat, "Quite the opposite actually." He turns, reaching for something he'd hung inside by the door. Elena hears cloth rub against the metal surface before seeing him pull out a deep red dress. He offers it to her, "For you."

"How . . . sweet."

He chuckles, "It's not a gift. It's the first half of your payment."

"You're pimping me out?"

"You're real funny," he says. "No. I have a favor to ask you." When she gestures for him to continue, he goes on, "I'm going to a dinner party on Saturday. A real suit and tie kind of deal."

"And I'm invited," she says. "Because you're madly in love with me."

"You're just full of jokes today, aren't you?" He extends the gown toward her, giving it a shake in indication for her to take it. "I need a date. That's all."

Elena takes the dress, the stench of the body still marinating around them. She meets his eyes, which watch her with unassuming frankness. "Okay," she says. "I guess I'll be your arm candy. What else do I get in return?"

One side of his mouth twitches upward. "Whatever you want, sweetheart."

She clutches the fabric against her body with a grin. "Fine. But I'm warning you, you might just fall in love with me. I can break your precious little heart."

"Good luck trying, Darlin'." His eyes hold her, time stretching as the green deepens. "But it's already broken."

* * *

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay longer chapter!(?) But seriously thanks to anyone who reads this after this long a wait. It really, truly means a lot to me!! I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Also, that last line is shamelessly stolen from Peaky Blinders. I like to be unoriginal at times.


	6. My Body's a Zombie for You

Elena hasn't seen Dean for three days. The bar is bland without him and she tries her best to make sure her time there isn't wasted in his absence for her sake and for Sam's. The mechanical cogs and gears continue to rotate in her brain.

But with the red-eyed demon dead, Elena is forced to put up with new, lower-class demons scrambling to take his place. Elena can almost smell their ambition a mile away. But apart from the mayhem of it all, her time there has become relatively uneventful. By the third day her restlessness is at a maximum.

Tomorrow, Elena reassures herself as she washes the thousandth glass. At least she'll see him tomorrow. She can only try to study him then - make sure he hadn't instigated another massacre and hope she isn't too late.

She feels like a teenage girl waiting for her goddamn prom date. Her marked, homicidal prom date.

"Are you okay?" Elena looks up from the dishes, meeting Pat's concerned eyes.

She smiles, "Why? Is there more blood pouring from my face?"

"You don't seem . . . bothered by what's been happening around here," he says cautiously, eyes flicking over her. "At all."

Her smile remains, "I don't dwell."

He shakes his head disapprovingly. He appears to want to press her further but decides against it, asking instead, "I heard through the grapevine that you're going on a date with the boss? What's that about?"

Elena shrugs, "He didn't tell me anything. Just that it was some kind of fancy party."

She glares down, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn smudge when Pat's grave eyes enter her field of vision. "Listen to me," he says. "You need to watch your back, you hear? I know you've got backbone Doll, but I don't want to see you crawling back here Monday looking like a used punching bag." His tone is jokingly light but the black look of fright in his eyes betrays him.

She sets down the glass, laughing, "Just what kind of party do you think this is, Pat?"

Before he can reply, Elena's phone buzzes loudly from inside her pocket. She sighs, drying her hands before pulling it out.

"BFG?" Pat asks with an amused smile. "Ooh let me guess-"

Elena cuts him off with a look as she answers, "Hello?"

" _He's here_ ," Sam hisses. His voice comes through breathlessly, as if he's just been running.

"What? Who?" Elena demands.

"Brian Frederick George?" Pat suggests with a grin. Elena ignores him.

" _Dean_ ," Sam says. " _He found where I dumped our little demon's body._ "

Her heart sinks. She casts Pat a cursory glance, then snaps, "I thought I told you to put it somewhere farther."

" _I did_ ," Sam whispers tersely. " _He must've been tracking it down because he's here. Six feet away from me_."

"Ben Franklin Gregory?" Pat snorts, enjoying his own game. At the second look Elena gives him, he quiets, puts his hands up in surrender, and exits the kitchen.

"Has he seen you?" Elena asks.

" _No, but he looks angry_." She hears shuffling. " _I'm going to talk to him, Elena._ "

"Sam, don't." She says through her teeth. "Nothing you say will register. He's too far gone right now. Sam? Sam!"

But he's already disconnected. She curses to herself, repocketing the phone.

Her only hope is that they leave each other unscathed. There's only so many messes she can clean up after at once, and she doesn't want a body to be one of them.

___

Elena sits on the edge of Sam's bed staring at the opposite wall. Her hands wring together absently, and she checks the clock every minute, each time surprised more time hasn't passed since her last glance. It's been an hour since he hung up on her.

Images of Sam dead somewhere in a cold, empty street rise to the front of her brain. She swallows it down and stands, crossing her arms tightly. She paces. She sighs. She checks the clock again.

Then she jumps when the sound of ragged breathing enters her consciousness. It's coming from just outside the front door. Her frazzled mind can't make sense of the noise. The thought that it could be Dean makes her heart beat faster. She moves to hide in the bathroom.

The person grumbles behind the front door, shaking the knob furiously. It takes a second, but the door gives with a sharp ripping sound. The man huffs. Elena keeps still, listening. If it's Dean and he finds her, she's dead. There won't be any talking herself out of this one.

The guest staggers farther into the room. She hears the bed creak.

A voice calls, "Elena?"

A rush of relief washes over her and she exhales, pulling the bathroom door open. "What the hell, Sam? What happened to your key?"

He shakes his shaggy head, "I left it here." He gestures to the drawer beside the bed.

She moves to stand in front of him as he sits on the edge of the bed, just where she had been minutes ago. His face is in his hands, tiredly rubbimg back and forth.

"How did you know I was here?" Elena asks, eyes gently prodding at him. He looks uninjured for the most part, wearing his usual jeans and flannel shirt.

He looks up at her, a small, crooked smile on his lips. "The bed smells like you." His hand runs across the fabric as if to feel her through his fingers. "Beer and shampoo. Your peach shampoo."

Elena feels a slight blush creep across her face. She clears her throat and sits next to him, the bed making a soft squeak. Sam closes his eyes and sighs, dropping his head onto her shoulder.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Elena tries.

He groans loudly, throwing an arm around her and yanking her to lay down with him. She laughs, letting herself fall against the bed with a bounce.

They lay side by side with him half on top of her and his face pressed into her neck. He keeps his eyes shut, pretending to snore loudly. His heavy arm doesn't budge and she snorts. "You could just say no."

"No," he says, then resumes snoring.

She laughs, causing a soft rumble of laughter from him. The sound vibrates into her neck.

They stay this way, unmoving. Just breathing in and out, not wanting any thoughts to wake them from this quiet moment. But Elena sighs. The thoughts drift in. Turning to look down at him, her lips brush his unkempt hair.

Sensing her questioning energy, Sam sighs back.

He slides his hand under her shirt absently to rest on her stomach and presses himself close. Their legs stagger each other, one of hers pushed between his. The heat of his fingers stroke her skin, making her breath quicken as he pushes it higher. Slipping under her bra, Sam clasps her breast. His skin feels like it belongs there. Constantly touching hers.

He tilts his eyes to look at her, and he watches her face with warmth as he continues to run his hand up and down, back and forth. Her back arches, and her lips part. He presses his forehead to hers and the cogs in her brain slow.

She lets out a rough breath, then catches his hand. There's no doubt he can feel the uneven beating in her chest. She meets his eyes and smiles, positioning her lips to graze his. His breath is no more even as he moves his lips against hers slowly. So slowly.

Elena pulls away, turning her head to face the ceiling. They both freeze, panting, as her hand holds his holding her.

"Is it possible," Elena's hoarse voice breaks the pause, "that you're trying to distract me?"

Sam barks out a laugh. "Foiled again."

Elena smirks at him, his brilliant smile pressing itself into her brain, causing her heart to clench.

She separates herself from him, sitting up and running a hand through her hair. "At least tell me whether or not I'm screwed."

Sam makes a face and groans out, "Give me a moment to recover, will you?"

She snatches a pillow and smacks him with it. "You started it. I was just asking you a question."

He chuckles, catching the pillow. When he seems to be adequately calmed, he says, "You're not screwed."

"And?"

"And," he says with a defeated frown, "Nothing."

"What did you say to him?" she asks, though she already has an idea.

"That I just wanted to help him. I asked him - begged him -  to come with me." Sam sits up, shaking his head. "He . . . ignored me. It was like he felt nothing when he looked at me."

Elena remembers Dean's eyes lighting up when he spoke to her. Or how they grew strangely distant when she asked something too personal. The way he always, always had something simmering beneath the surface. It's harr to imagine him feeling nothing, especially with Sam, his only family left, right in front of him. Everything means something.

"He didn't ignore you," she says. "You're just too emotional to see it."

Sam smiles at her softly, "Maybe. Maybe you see him clearer than I do." Without thinking, Elena pushes a hand through his dissheveled hair and his eyes weigh into hers, looking at her face with a small tilt at the corner of his lips. His voice is soft, as if it wasn't meant to be said aloud when he says, "Maybe only you can save him."

___

The dress slips on easily; so easily that Elena wonders if Dean had really picked it out himself or if he'd made one of his many girlfriends assist him.

Her dark hair rests in curls over her shoulder, tickling her skin. She tugs at the stray strands absently, thinking what Dean could have possibly intended by inviting her to this party. She can only assume that it has to do with business. And by the state of the bar for the last few days, it's possibly about filling in the empty spots in his ranks.

Knock-knock.

Straightening her dress, Elena makes her way to the front door of the bar. It's closed for the night, deserted except for her and the knocker. She opens the door.

"Dean," she says with a flash of a smile. Vivid green greets her.

"I don't understand why I can't just pick you up where you live," he says sourly before stepping inside. The night air feels cool as the first signs of winter bite.

"What if I don't want you to know where that is?" she says with a cocky lift of the brow.

He looks down at her, smirking at the flirtatious look in her eyes. His hair is cleanly arranged today, and a black suit sharpens his appearance. "Afraid I might come in uninvited?"

She rolls her eyes, "You're disgusting. Let's just go."

He chuckles, "As you wish, my lady." He gestures for her to walk ahead of him with a bow of his head.

The second they step out the door Elena stops short at the sight. Dean's eyes are on her, savoring the joys of her reactions no doubt.

"You're a real sap, aren't you?" she finally says, eyeballing the carriage and the two pitch black horses in front of it.

A look of satisfaction crosses his face. "I have my moments."

Dean offers a hand, helping her into the carriage, then seats himself beside her. And just like that a bubble of space encapsulates him. He closes off, looking away from her in silence. After a long stretch of quiet, she coughs.

"Are you going to tell me what kind of party this is?" Elena asks as they begin rock forward. "Business?"

"I'm meeting someone," he says briskly, giving her a quick look of acknowlegment before turning to look ahead of them. "I've been told he's a good person to know."

She hesitates, then asks, "Your boss told you this?"

Dean scoffs. "If you could call him my boss."

She presses on. "Will he be at the party?"

This draws his attention back to her face. A curious expression lines his features as he answers, "No."

Elena relaxes, then decides to change the subject. "So who did it?"

He releases a breath, strangled air rushing out. "A lot of people do a lot of things, sweetheart. Did you have a specific one in mind?"

"Who got on your bad side?" She turns to look him in the eyes, finding them looking slightly unhinged. She continues, "You have that look."

He raises an eyebrow, "Look?"

She shrugs, her gaze skimming his face for the familiar signs. She settles on his arm, where an angry red mark hides under his sleeve. He catches her stare and smiles softly, breaking the hardness. "You're awfully observant, aren't you?"

She smiles back and lets them fall back into silence, this one much more comfortable. Sam was wrong. Definitely not nothing.

When they arrive at their destination, Elena realizes that Dean had severely understated the nature of the event.

Dean takes her arm, leading her to a simple building through a plain set of doors. The room following their entrance is what catches her by surprise. It's wide, tall, and packed. Light seems to sparkle off every surface. The first word that comes to mind is castle. They'd just stepped foot into a modern castle. Chandeliers, gowns, and jewels are in every direction - the floors are a shining cream marble. Instrumental music bursts through the large hall.

"What is this place?" Elena asks, unable to hide her surprise.

Dean, however, seems bored and even slightly disgusted, replying, "This is where the douchebags of hell meet."

He puts an arm around her, ushering her through a crowd of well-dressed demons and toward a table. A string quartet plays heavily, the sounds ringing through the populated room. Once seated, Dean beckons for her to lean in. She bends her head closer.

"You see that man there?" he asks, nodding across the room. Elena follows his line of sight.

 _Oh, shit._ She stiffens, "Is that the person you're meeting?"

The man, or perhaps more suitably, original vampire sits across the room. His sandy gold hair is smoothed back, and his face betrays nothing but a look of pure disinterest.

Klaus Mikaelson.

"Word is he's got a handle New Orleans. Not to mention a lot of important friends," Dean says, jolting her out of her thoughts. "I'm supposed to ask about one particular friend."

"For your boss?" she asks quietly, her body growing cold. That familiar instinct to run is triggered and she fights everything in herself to stay planted in her seat.

That cautious expression reappears as he nods. "If I get this information I get a few more liberties of my own."

Yeah, more people to kill to feed your creepy mark, Elena thinks with a frown. It's the only thing Dean ever does anything for. She recalls how he'd saved her the other day. She also recalls the demon he'd murdered afterward.

She treads carefully. "So you need my help to get this information."

Dean sighs, "Yeah, well, I also got word that the guy's been a bit lonely recently. He's taken to acquiring more . . . expensive company."

Elena grits her teeth. Of course. "There sure is a whole lot of word on this guy," she comments, bringing her stare back to Klaus. He looks just as he had when he left Mystic Falls years ago. But perhaps, just as Dean said, a little sad.

Her fingers fidget with the fabric of her dress as she restrains herself from bolting. She forces her next words out, "I'd love to help."

Dean seems to buy it. "Great." His eyes roam her face now, trying to read her. He continues, "I didn't get a name to look for. Just a message: 'the last doppleganger'."

A long string of curses runs through her head. She feels the makings of a trap closing in around her. Suddenly the ballroom feels a hundred times more crowded. The laughter and music rise to a shrill crescendo. Elena senses the cogs work faster.

By the look on Dean's face, he's completely oblivous to the irony of the situation. In Crowley's mad search for her he'd enlisted Dean to track her down using Klaus. But with Dean ignorant of her identity, he gets Elena to help him do it. And now she has to go prostitute herself to Klaus just to ask about her own wherabouts.

This is shaping up to be a fantastic night.

___

Elena isn't afraid. She isn't angry either. At least she thinks she isn't. But she does know that when all this is over she's snapping Dean Winchester's neck.

"If anything doesn't go as planned," Dean says against her ear now as they wait outside the door to the meeting room. "Just whistle. I'll come get you."

She releases a stiff huff. "By that do you mean if he decides not to sleep with me?"

"I have no idea what you're--"

The sound of her slapping him across the face is like a thunderclap in the enormous, empty hallway. She lifts her chin to look him directly in the eyes and says, "Wrong answer."

For a moment he looks surprised, and the smallest of smiles reaches his eyes almost as if he's proud of her for seeing through him. The look leaves him quickly, however, and is replaced by a cool lift of the brow. "You said you wanted to help. This is how you can help."

Disappointment eases its way through the cracks she'd been stupid enough to leave unattended. She steels herself. "Yeah, whatever. Let's just get this over with."

"That's my girl," he says. But his voice is flat and he looks ahead.

Panic sets in fast as she hears shuffling behind the door. There's no way Klaus won't recognize her. And when he does she'll no sooner be back in Crowley's clutches, indebted to him for the rest of eternity.

With a thudding noise, the door opens and they're greeted by Klaus himself.

"Hello," he says, smirking. Flashes of memory try to push their way to the forefront of her mind - Klaus laughing at her, kidnapping her, draining her blood. She shudders and squashes it back into the dusty cabinets they belong in.

Dean reaches to put an arm around Elena but she steps forward, evading his touch. She doesn't look back to see his reaction.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," she extends her hand to Klaus. Recognition is clear in his eyes as they settle on her. They're tough and lingering as he grasps her hand tightly. She gives him a small but firm shake of the head.

A smug little smile flashes across his lips, then disappears into a polite nod, indicating that he'd received her subtle message. "The pleasure is mine, Miss . . .?"

She scowls, "Elena."

"Elena. Such a lovely name. Haven't heard it in a while actually." He grins, really laying it on thick. Elena cringes. His words tilt in his familiar accent as he turns to look behind her. "And you must be Dean Winchester."

"Crowley told me a bit about you," Dean says stiffly.

"Ah, Crowley. We've met a few times this century." Klaus moves aside, letting them into the small room. It looks like a study. A deep brown couch sits in the center, surrounded by thick, densely-packed bookcases. His stare moves from Dean, then to Elena with a slight twinkle. "I see he's still too lazy to do his own work."

"We're trying to find someone," Dean says, ignoring the jab. He and Elena sweep into the room, and the door clicks shut behind them. "He thinks you can help us."

Klaus tsks. "That's terribly unfortunate. I don't do favors for just anyone. Especially not the King of Hell."

Expecting this, Dean nods shortly. "I hear you accept payment."

Klaus's smirk intensifies, his wolfish features momentarily visible as he says, "That I do, Winchester."

Dean gestures to Elena with a tight smile, "How about her? She'll be good company for as long as you want."

Annoyance boils in her stomach. The idea that those words are coming from Dean's mouth makes her want to hit him. Memories slice through her head, bleeding her painfully. Memories of her as a teenager getting traded and bargained for like a piece of merchandise. She should have known that her life would never be any different. Freedom doesn't exist for people like her. Yes. She's definitely killing Dean after this.

Klaus regards her with an entertained gaze, as if her being before him in such a vulnerable position brings him great joy. "I have another suggestion."

Dean shifts, his eyebrows lowering. "I'm listening."

"I talk about whoever you're looking for to her only." Klaus points a finger at Elena. "Alone."

Dean hesitates, glancing at her with a faint expression of unease.

Elena grits her teeth, "Fine." She looks at Dean, whose green eyes flicker from Klaus to her distrustfully. She gives him a bitter smile. "Get out so we can talk."

He blinks, then looks at her with seriousness, "Remember what I said."

Just whistle. Elena stares at him as he leaves the room. As soon as the door closes her thoughts are interrupted by Klaus, who chuckles loudly.

"You really know how to get tangled in webs, don't you, Elena?" He says with a wide grin. "Come on, the King of Hell? Even I don't have such terrible luck-"

"Yes, it's all very funny." She pushes past him to a drink cart and pours herself a glass of bourbon.

"Let me guess," Klaus says, circling her. "The person Crowley is looking for is you?"

Elena glares at him and he laughs harder. She gulps down the bourbon before responding, "You're one to judge. You accept women as payment."

His expression darkens slightly. "Not in the way you think." He turns away from her. "The person I lost can't be so easily replaced. Not even by a priceless doppleganger."

They fall silent for a moment, and Elena finds herself feeling oddly . . . sorry. She reels it back quickly, deciding that Sam's kindness is somehow clinging to her.

"How do you plan on getting yourself out of this?" Klaus asks, collecting himself with a hasty smirk.

"I was gonna call you a dead end."

"Boring," Klaus says with a shake of the head. "Have some fun, create some drama."

"No, thank you," she checks the time. "Do you think we've been in here long enough?"

"I can't believe you're not taking advantage of that guard dog out there," he says, ignoring the question. "He's completely smitten."

Elena snorts, "He just tried to sell me."

"Yes, and he's pacing outside the door. Can't you hear it?"

She stops. Sure enough, the sound of Dean's shoes tapping against the marble floor travels back and forth.

"He's just waiting for his ticket to kill more people," she says, unconvinced.

Klaus glances at the clock, then says, "Do you want me to prove it?"

"What? No--"

Before she can fully say the word, Klaus is on her, hands pinning her to the wall. An involuntary scream escapes her. She'd been pinned a grand total of thirty seconds before Klaus is yanked off of her with such force that he goes hurtling across the room and into a bookcase.

Standing over Klaus looking as enraged as a bull, Dean's fists tighten, ready to charge. Elena stares, stunned for a moment as Dean saves her, unecessarily, for the third time.

___

Her heels click against the asphalt as she storms with as much dignity as she can after that performance down the street. Dean had tried to beat Klaus to death, an act that would surely be proven impossible had Elena let him continue. He did get several punches in before she could stop him, resulting in only hysterical laughter from Klaus, and severe confusion from Dean. Elena had yelled at him for a bit and Dean yelled back. It went back and forth uselessly until Elena finally stormed out.

Behind her she hears Dean, his steps swift but calm as he follows her.

"Elena," he says after a silence. Empty trashbags crinkle, continuously getting caught by the wind and tumbling and skidding across the road. "Elena!"

"Huh," she says. "It's like a very loud, annoying bug is buzzing around here. If it gets anywhere near me I might just have to kill it."

"Elena," he says again, his voice half amused, half exasperated. "You're going the wrong way."

"I'll go wherever the hell I want, annoying bug."

"Hey, you agreed to this," Dean says. She can almost feel his finger pointing at her back. "Don't get pissed at me."

She stops suddenly, causing him to collide with her and take hold of her for balance. Elena grips his arm and turns to face him. Then she says with flat seriousness, "I really want to kill you right now but I just can't decide how I want to do it."

A flash of excitement zips through his eyes and she doesn't miss the clench of his jaw. It's unclear who's holding who but hands are tangled. Dean's eyes darken and she swears she hears his heart skip a beat.

He grins. "What, no 'thank you'?"

She lets out a short breath, spotting a small blood stain on his inner shirt. She tears her arms from him and spins around, resuming her stomp towards nothing in particular. A chuckle sounds from behind her and his footsteps continue their pursuit.

Elena doesn't know where she's going. Everything smells like cigarettes and rotten garbage. Distantly police sirens howl. None of it bothers her more than the demon smiling at her back.

Her stomach growls. Food. That's what she wants.

"What kind of party doesn't serve food?" she throws over her shoulder.

Dean laughs. "I never said it was gonna be a good party."

"Yeah. You didn't warn me about a few other things too."

Elena hears a awkward shift in his voice as he attempts to wrench the conversation away from the events of the night. "You sure you want to be going this way?"

She continues down the blank road. Trees rustle in the breeze as the white moon washes cold light on them. She points down the road. "You see that?"

He catches up to her, closing the respectful distance he'd left between him and her wrath. Squinting into the darkeness, he says, "Is that a diner?" He looks at her. "You want to eat there? This isn't exactly an area where you'd wanna raise the kids."

"You know, if you're scared you can just tell me," she says, nudging him with her elbow, though she finds his sudden concern annoyingly endearing. She likes catching those moments. When his eyes soften, exposing a brief glimpse of Dean before closing back over and the demon returns.

He meets her eyes, that familiar challenge flashing. "I was just offering you an out, sweetheart. To save you some embarrassment."

"Always the gentleman," she remarks dryly as they reach the diner door. She swings it open, holding it open for him and gesturing for him to walk through it. Amusement tugs at his lips. He steps through the doorway with an exaggerated nod of thanks.

Sure enough, when they enter Elena finds the diner's occupants no more promising than that of the bar. The energy is a dramatic contrast to the high class snobbery of the ballroom crowd not half an hour away.

Elena gets a seat in a booth and she immediately takes up a menu. Dean slides in across from her and she doesn't look up, feeling his eyes resting on her face.

"So did you blow your deal?" she says, keeping her stare on the menu.

A long sigh escapes him. "I guess I did."

"Why?" her voice sounds angry. She clears her throat, soothing it. "I didn't call for help. The deal was going through just fine-"

"Bacon," Dean says with finality. "I could really go for bacon right now."

Elena looks up. Dean is studying the menu with focus, perhaps with much more than is necessary, and nodding.

She flattens the menu to the table. "Why did you take me to that party?"

"--bacon and beer. Do you think they serve beer here?"

"Dean."

She sees him swallow before letting go of the menu and pinching the bridge of his nose. When he looks at her again he says, "I just thought that it would be easier but it wasn't."

"To keep your word?"

"To let you go," he says forcefully.

The flame of anger in her is splashed with ice cold water. Elena opens her mouth to reply, then closes it again, realizing that she doesn't quite know what to say.

Dean smirks. "That's a first. No snarky comeback?"

She shakes her head, feeble annoyance thining her lips. "I think you may just be the worst person I've ever met."

"Ah, there it is," he says with a smile.

"What did you think would happen?" she asks. "You'd make your stupid deal and your boss would give you a big fat raise?"

Dean grimaces. He looks as if he wants to explain himself when the front door clatters open noisily. A man charges in with a gun, then shoots two warning shots into the wall. Customers and waitresses shriek.

"Everyone get your wallets out!" the man shouts.

"Are you kidding me?" Elena says.

"Horrible timing," mutters Dean in irritation, looking extremely inconvenienced. Elena can't say that the robber looks the least bit threatening to to herself and Dean. She supposes to anyone else he might be but she just isn't in the mood for these games tonight.

The man whips around to look at them, zeroing in on their booth. Elena can only imagine what he sees - two very unimpressed customers. He descends upon Dean like a hawk. "What did you say?" he demands.

Dean sighs. "Do you mind? We're trying to have a conversation here."

Elena swats his hand, "Can you just shut up at let him finish? The sooner he's gone the sooner I can eat."

Dean nods vigorously, as if her words were further proof of the robber's bad timing. He turns to him,"See? She's hungry and you just interrupted us before we could order food."

The diner goes silent as all eyes turn to him. Fear buzzes through the air as the man tries to fight his own discouragement.

The robber raises his gun to Dean's temple, "I don't care," he says. "Now get out your goddamn wallets. Both of you."

Elena rolls her eyes. This is going to be messy. She tries to make eye contact with the guy, intending to compel him to back off. The last thing she needs right now is another slip-up in Operation Save Dean's Humanity. But Dean stands, at full height being level with the other man. Hesmiles and Elena instantly recognizes the look in his eyes as he shrugs off his jacket and rolls up his white shirt sleeves.

"Dean," she says, voice grave. "Don't be an idiot."

To her surprise he actually hears her but only replies, "Sorry, sweetheart, but I'm hungry."

He yanks the man by the back of his head and slams him into the table, causing their utensils to rattle violently. The gun goes flying. Blood smears against the smooth surface and the man screams.

Elena rolls her eyes. "Seriously, Dean?"

Dean gestures at the man defensively, "What, he was pissing me off!"

Elena crosses her arms as the no-longer-armed robber groans, leaning against the table in agony. She raises an eyebrow at Dean, "What are you, a frat boy?"

He scoffs, "Oh come on, he deserves it."

The man straightens with difficulty and swings at Dean. Unsurprisingly, he misses. Dean smashes a fist into his face, sending him sprawling back onto the table. Dean towers over him, rearing his fist back and pounding it into the man's neck, then stomach, then nose.

Blood splatters against Dean's face. Deep red shines.

Elena gets up, grips him by the arms and shoves him back, squeezing herself between Dean and his victim. Immediately he lets up, wild eyes meeting hers like a starving dog.

"Elena, get the hell out of my way," he growls.

The mark on his forearm is burning red now. Elena doesn't budge.

"Elena, get the hell out of my way or I swear I will make you." His shallow breaths are made more ragged as they push past gritted teeth.

She holds a hand to his chest. "Let me do it."

His eyes shift to startled evergreen, "What?"

Sam's pleading face flashes behind her eyelids. She steps forward, "Let me take care of him."

Uncertainty lowers his brows as he looks at her now with a newfound interest. He stares at her heatedly for several moments before unclenching his fists. He smiles, gesturing at the man, "Have at it."

Elena turns to the robber, whose fear is plain on his face. She feels the cogs in her head systematically turning. Her hand closes around his arm, pressing her fingers in so hard that his skin whitens. Suddenly she twists sharply, snapping the bone.

He lets out a long scream of pain, the sound running through her body like a shiver. But Dean's eyes are only on her, wide and fascinated like a child, but hungry for blood.

Elena snatches a knife from the table and touches it to the man's neck. He whimpers. She turns the blade into his flesh and pierces it. A small burst of crimson drips down.

The man is shouting again as she runs the knife across his skin, cutting slowly and deeply. Screams of horror sound from all around the diner and the crowd fights to get out the door.

Dean is close behind Elena, watching, tracking her every move. He steps in, bringing his lips to her ear.

"Hit him," he says, his warm breath tickling the skin of her neck.

She swallows, letting the knife slip from her fingers. Her dead heart beats itself heavily. A violent thirst swallows her . . . and she can't stop.

____

He had so much blood.

Elena's dress and body is stained by it as she backs away from his long dead corpse.

Dean stands with her. His green eyes shine, his expression of awe looking strange against his own bloodied appearance. Their eyes meet and he smiles, reaching a hand up to her face.

His thumb presses to her lip. Blood slides against blood. She feels the sharpness of her teeth as her tongue darts out to lick the blood from his finger.

Dean makes a strangled noise, stepping closer. They're close enough that she can feel the pulse of his wrist beating against her chin. She feels one of the cogs shake.

"I knew it," Dean says, holding her face gently. A darkness swims into her brain. "I knew you were like me."

___

They arrive back at the bar in strained silence. The air feels tight around them. Elena feels her body's awareness of Dean's every movement as he strides across the dark room to the back closet. He pulls out a spare shirt.

Elena, knowing where this is going, steps out the front door and moves to shut it. But it's too late. His eyes have already latched onto her, locking her in place. At seeing her trying to leave, surprise doesn't register in his expression, but instead curiosity. His green eyes touch hers with a searching openess that causes her heart to stutter.

With all the power she can muster, she attempts to close the door a second time. But again he stops her with not quite a shake but a tilt of the head.

His eyes never leave her as his fingers resume their descent down his shirt, undoing each button one at a time. The cloth falls from his shoulders, exposing his shoulders, chest, and stomach. Scarred and muscled, he shifts in and out shadows, letting the light from the hall frame his skin. He smiles at her, eyes shining in a way that's lethal.

At that Elena blinks, takes a breath, then forces the door shut. Of their own accord, her fingers twist the knob so that it clicks. His light, mirthful laugh emanates from behind the door, reaching her ears happily. Her hands shake slightly and she presses her face into them, wondering, after all of this, who really is seducing who.

___

The gears click and shudder inside her head. She hears them loud and clear with each step she takes from the bar to Sam's motel. Her hands are still shaking. Her breathing grows more and more shallow.

When Sam lets her in she shoves past him, her eyes roaming the room in a panic. Her dead heart hammers on.

"Elena," Sam's worried voice vaguely registers. "What's wrong? What happened?"

She braces herself against the wall, sucking in air rapidly. Tears slip from her eyes.

"Elena?" True panic sharpens her name now as Sam comes closer, grasping her by the shoulders and bringing her to face him. "Elena, what's wrong? ELENA!" He shakes her roughly. Concern pulls at his eyebrows and shines through his clear eyes.

She swallows, then chokes out, "I - I don't -" She fists her trembling hands. "I just need a second. I'm fine. Excuse me-" She pulls herself from his grip and runs to the bathroom, slamming the door shut.

"Elena! Talk to me!" His shouts are muffled by the door separating them. "Whose blood is that?"

A curse escapes her mouth at the cold sweat permeating her dress. She rips them off and jerkily pulls at the shower handles until water starts pouring down. With a wobbling breath she ducks under the warm stream. Her hair curtains heavily around her face and she sinks to her knees onto the shower floor. The water pulls red off of her, but fails in removing the face of the man whose life she ended from her brain.

The gears still tumble inside her skull and for the first time she wonders when they got there in the first place.

It takes several minutes for the assault on her heart to calm - but just barely. It's only when the tears are leaking from her eyes that her haze clears slightly - just enough for her to become aware of Sam's breathing outside the bathroom door.

"Elena, please," he says desperately. His hand audibly brushes the door.

She doesn't respond. She sits back now, bringing her knees up to rest her face against. The water warms her back, uncoiling her still shaking muscles.

This feeling is familiar. Frighteningly so. Echoes of her memories pound her eardrums and she clenches her teeth. This can't be happening. Not again.

The door clicks open. Footsteps. A hand touches her shoulder and she shuts her eyes. The scent of pine and soap drift through the room.

After a length of time she opens them again and Sam is sitting across from her. His eyes look grey today as he stares, sitting with his back against the shower wall. His hair is soaking and dark along with his t-shirt and jeans. A black cloud passes over his face.

She smiles softly, "You look ridiculous."

His jaw clenches. "You gonna tell me what happened tonight?"

She sighs. The tremors in her limbs have finally faded but a lingering weight clutches at her chest. She feels heavier. "I couldn't tell you."

His agitation deepens as his fists clench and unclench, struggling to maintain some semblance of calm. "Well, you'd better tell me something because I'm going insane over here."

She barks out bitter laughter. "You're going insane? That word fits me better, don't you think?"

Those grey eyes search her, as if fully seeing her for the first time. Elena averts her gaze and hugs herself, suddenly feeling self-conscious of her nakedness both physically and mentally. Of the seperation between warm streams of water and cool puffs of air hitting her skin.

They sit in silence for a while with Sam just watching her, uncertainty plain on his face. He's never seen her like this before. He's never seen any break in her solid armor before let alone what she looks like once she sheds it. Elena can only imagine what's going through his head right now.

Feeling it best to put him out of his misery, she meets his stare. "I've been through this before, you know. A long time ago."

He makes an effort to smile, "This? You mean you've sat in a shower with another man?" But his voice is strained.

"You're an idiot," she says, but smiles back. "I mean, I've felt this before. My humanity."

Something shifts behind his eyes. "Your humanity?"

The word hangs between them for a moment. Sam swallows, then brings himself closer. His searching look from before returns, this time lacking politeness as his wide eyes stroke every feature available to him. Then she almost sees the realization click inside of him.

"You feel now?" he says, his voice careful.

She blinks against the falling water. She's unable to decipher his expression, blinded by her own emotions yet again. His beauty hits her like a truck. His heart is right there on his sleeve and she just wants to hold it. His proximity tightens her lungs as it could have never done yesterday.

Taking her silence as an affirmation, Sam ventures out again.

"What do you feel?" he asks softly.

Elena closes her eyes again. Sam's hand reaches out, brushing her foot, her knee, her arm until it settles on brushing the hair away from her face. She feels her cheeks burn pink. She feels the shallow break in his breath as it leaves his lips and paints goosebumps across her skin. She feels her unsteady heartbeat and hears the wetness of his tongue as he licks his lips.

She opens her eyes. "I feel everything."

Sam exhales, an unidentifiable energy radiating from him. God, why is it so hard for her to read him now? But the thought rips away as he takes her by the hands and unwraps them from her knees, releasing her legs.

An intense heat shoots through her gut as he looks at her, eyes slow and direct.

His face is flushed when he leans in and presses his lips to hers, parting them with his. Their tongues touch. A violent shiver runs through her.

The kiss seems to go on forever. It isn't until Elena moves closer to him, bringing their bodies together, that Sam pulls away, breathless.

He tugs off his shirt and it hits the shower wall with a slap. Elena brings a hand to his face then pushes his wet hair back to see his face. Dark, dilated eyes stare back at her.

He holds her by the chin, then slides his hand deliberately down to her neck, then to her breast. His thumb brushes over her nipple and she arches against him and sighs. Tension coils inside of her.

He lowers himself, his mouth closing around her nipple. Letting out a small cry, she falls back, letting him push her to the opposite wall. He pushes her legs open and moves into the space tightly. She wraps her legs around his body, rolling against him.

His breath shakes, his other hand moving to grip her hip, stroking her leg back and forth maddeningly. He kisses her again, this time plunging his tongue into her mouth with much more aggression. Elena runs a hand down his back, going lower and lower until she tugs his jeans off.

Sam groans into her neck when his bare heat grazes hers. His teeth scrapes her skin and his fingers dig into her hips. Sam grunts through his teeth as she grinds against him. His hips start to jerk roughly in response. Waves of pleasure beat into her center and she gasps out his name as the downpour of water continues.

He looks at her, eyes dazed with lust, before slowly sliding himself into her. His shout of pleasure burns itself into her memory, melting the gears that had long stopped clicking. Nothing but silence invades her brain as pure feeling overwhelms her.

She feels him touching the deepest part inside of her and can barely keep still from the pulsing heat. He pulls out slowly, then pumps into her and she moans from the delicious friction. Everything is wet and messy as their skin slides against each other.

They move slowly and purposefully, as if afraid of whatever comes afterward, but they can't prolong it forever.

Sam groans, his thrusts in and out of her suddenly becoming rough and uneven. Elena clenches her legs, feeling an intense rise in pleasure, and forces his name through gritted teeth. Their rhythm grows awkward and harsh as control slips away. Her strangled sounds are louder and more pronounced, causing Sam to respond with more force.

Elena lets out a rushed exhale, "Sam," she says breathlessly. "I love you."

Sam pounds into her faster and faster until he jerks hard with a ragged groan. He comes inside her just as her pleasure mounts, and she tightens around him. Her vision blurs, and they hold each other tightly, never wanting to let go.

_ _ _

"It's an awful feeling," Elena says absently, staring somewhere between his chest below her and beyond. They'd moved to Sams bed, had two more rounds, and lay for hours this way, neither of them able to sleep or get up. She told Sam about what happened that night, about Dean getting under her skin in ways that she can't understand. He'd listened silently, holding her more tightly as the story went on. She hasn't felt this close to someone in a long, long time.

Elena sighs, "Having no humanity, I mean."

Sam makes a sound for her to continue, stroking circles into her bare back.

She nestles her head into his chest, needing more warmth. "You don't know it while it's happening but, somewhere, deep inside you, you feel the ugliness. The emptiness. Like every reason for living is no longer relevant."

"I know the feeling," Sam comments quietly. He exhales, "You feel like the lowest point of existence. Like hell walking."

She tilts her head up at him. His eyes mirror her hazy ones, thinking back to horrors that she can only guess at. His hand stops stroking her back.

"You said you loved me," he says after a while. He blinks away the vacantness. "Is that the truth?"

She smiles curiously, "Yes."

His voice is broken and wilted as he continues, "You would do anything for me?"

Puzzled, she slowly says, "Yes."

He looks her in the eyes and brushes her hair aside, stroking her face gently. "I need you to turn your humanity back off."

She freezes, and the smile is gone. "What?"

"Elena," he says slowly and clinically. "You can't finish what we started like this. You just can't."

His words slap her into reality and she sits up, "Are you serious? I can't believe you. I can't believe that after everything I just told you-" she breaks off and pushes away from him, leaping off the bed and dragging the blanket with her.

Sam starts at the sudden coldness, his bare body exposed to the night. He stands. "Elena, please-"

"No! Don't-" she breaks off a second time, ripping her gaze away from him. She can't look at him. Not without falling into his eyes like some lovesick teenager. She should have never come back here. She should have never sought the comfort of his embrace. She should have never used that damn word.

His voice presses at her again. "Elena, look at me."

Her grip on the blanket tightens, trying in vain to keep her body warm. But the frigid hand of their business deal never lets her go.

"What?" She brings herself to look at him, finding sad but determined hazel. She steels herself. "Are you going to try to convince me that I'm better off without my humanity? That I can't be effective as I am?"

"You can't," he says, imploring. "No one can. Dean needs someone who can match him blow for blow and you are the only one who can. It took me meeting him yesterday to finally realize that."

"Do you know how many times you put me down because of how heartless I was?" She runs a hand through her hair, sensing a mounting wildness inside of her. "How many times you complained because you thought I wasn't sympathizing with you?"

Sam steps closer, those sad, sad eyes ensnaring her. Softly, he says, "I know."

"You know?" Elena says, hurt bleeding through her voice. She plants one hand on his chest an shoves him away. "You are so full of shit."

She tucks the blanket more tightly around herself, storming around the room to collect her clothes.

"You were right," Sam calls after her. His face carries a bitter drive that she knows too well. He continues with severity, "When you said I was letting my feelings distract me."

Each word stings her more sharply than the last. She takes an uneven breath, feeling a tear escape the corner of her eye. She quickly wipes it away.

"You could have realized that before you had sex with me."

He flinches, breaking eye contact briefly before saying, "I'm sorry--"

"When did you make this decision?" she asks, unable to keep back the rest of the tears. "Before or after?"

He swallows, his eyes shining. He struggles to answer.

"Before."

Elena nods coldly. This is about Dean. It'll always be about Dean. And she made this deal with him a long time ago.

"I'll only do this if you're sure that this is what need. If you understand what you're asking me to do." Her voice nearly cracks. "This happening was just a fluke. It could be years, lifetimes, before I ever get myself back."

Sam presses his lips into a hard line, sounding choked as he says, "I understand."

Elena turns away from him, trying to dry her tears. She takes a breath, willing herself to let go. To shut it out. A small part of her mourns, somehow aware that that image, Sam's expression of pure sadness, would be the last image the real Elena would have.

She puts the cogs back in place, little by little until her brain is reset back to zero. The machinery claws into her, hollowing her out again, ripping out anything that had Sam placed in her heart the moment he met her.

She vaguely feels his arms circle her, shaking, and tears wetting the top of her head.

"I need you to know," he says, as the cogs work. "I love you too."

* * *

 


	7. Part Two: The Castle Can Never be Rebuilt Again

**Little Heaven, Delaware**   
**Present**   
**___**

The clock ticks on. Sam looks up from his tangled fingers as he hears the pen finally stop scratching against paper. Elena had paused her story, her voice reaching a fumbling halt.

Sam chances a glance in her direction, something he'd been avoiding the whole night, and is greeted only by a turned head.

A sympathetic expression warms Zadkiel's face as he presses his pen straight onto the table. He looks from her to Sam. "Is that how you remember that day, Sam?"

The silence stretches around them like a lazy cat. The clock ticks. Sam can feel the thrum of his agitation against his skin and swallows. The way the words left the angel's mouth was so simple. Too simple for the grim scowl he has in reply as the memories beat at the back of his eyes.

"That's what happened," he says. His voice sounds hollow in his own ears. The ghost of her lips brushes his jaw and he suppresses a shiver, clearing his throat. "She turned her humanity back off and we made a plan to get Dean to snap the next day. It was a good plan."

He feels Elena shift next to him and his body immediately tightens, mild panic bending his fingers into fists. He makes a strained effort to unclench them.

"And did you two . . ." Zadkiel starts, examining him carefully, "continue your relationship?"

"How is that relevant?" Sam asks. "How does that detail at all help Dean's case?"

"Sam, every detail matters," he replies earnestly. He gestures to his notes, "Elena told me that she's the one that killed the robber. That helps Dean."

Sam scoffs, "I doubt that absolving him of one murder will save him."

"Let's just finish this and let him do his job, Sam," Elena says. He turns to her, finding eyes angry, burning heat into his cheeks. She looks back at the angel, "No. We didn't. We didn't see each other much after I left his room. We spoke mostly over the phone."

"Much?"

"We only saw each other once."

Sam feels her eyes on him again. Like hot water dripping down every inch of his skin. He knows she sees him. Every dark tumbleweed of madness cluttering his insides. Every sin tattooed on his face.

_I love you._

"Right," he says. He swallows. "That's the last time I saw her."

Zadkiel makes a thoughtful hum, picking up his pen and continuing his notes. Sam thinks he sees the word "guilt" being carved into the paper as Zadkiel says, "Okay, so when did the killings start?"

Sam stands suddenly, his knees knocking into the table and causing Zadkiel's pen to jump from his fingers.

"I need some fresh air."

The angel blinks at him with one eyebrow raised. "Okay then, I'll have someone escort you--"

"No," he says, stepping away from them. Elena is silent. Staring at him. He grimaces. "I can go myself."

"I'm sorry, Sam," Zadkiel says, expression softening. "But I really need to send someone with you."

Through the small window in the door Sam sees another angel, eyeing him cautiously. He gives a hard nod.

As the door shuts behind him he hears Elena say, "It's okay." There is a sigh in her voice. "I'll answer the rest of your questions alone."

. . .

_I hate you._

Sam opens his eyes. The white walls of the facility appear slightly grey as dawn slips through the window blinds. He breathes in, air slowly and heavily filling his lungs.

A knock breaks the silence.

"Time to get up. The trial starts in two hours," a voice says from behind the white door. He hears the lock click open from the outside.

Sam rolls off the bed, pads over, and pulls the door open, finding no one. He did, however, nearly trip on the set of white clothes, towel, and toothbrush left waiting for him on the floor. Scooping them up, he silently makes his way down the hall to where he remembers the bathroom was.

As soon as he enters he stops short, seeing Elena in front of the mirror brushing her teeth. She pulls the brush from her mouth and spits into the sink.

She looks at him, offering a polite smile. "Good morning."

He nods, clutching his items tightly. "Hello."

He places them onto the countertop. Brushing his teeth, he wanders his gaze in her direction. Elena's hair is wet, curling slightly. He watches as she runs a comb through it - as it stretches and curls.

Her face is clean and without makeup, not dark with shadows as it always seemed before. It is an unsettling contrast to his face, which had only gotten more sunken with fatigue and poor diet. His haphazard attempt at shaving over the past two years had left patches of unhealthy looking stubble on his jawline.

Sam leans against the sink with one hand clasped on it to splash his face, closing the distance between them slightly. He senses her body stiffening. The comb sifts faster throught her hair.

He tightens his grip on the edge of the sink and runs the faucet, keeping his eyes down in an attempt to spare her any more discomfort. The water streams, beating against the basin, shielding his ears from the silence. He wets his face despite the distinct feeling that water wouldn't wash away a damn thing. Once done, with his face cold and wet, he looks up.

Elena had put the comb down, the dull gray-white of the room making the brown of her hair and eyes look like a fiery red in comparison. She glances at him briskly before gesturing to the folded clothes he's set down.

It takes him a second to realize he'd put his things on top of hers, and he quickly snatches them out of her way, mumbling an apology. He uses his free hand to pick up her matching white uniform and hands it to her.

She hesitates for a split second, then hastily takes it from him, fingers cautious to avoid touch. The silence is stifling, like water slowly rising, closing up around them. Their eyelines tangle.

_I hate you._

A knock at the door causes them to jump, their eyes snapping apart.

"Hurry up and get changed. Zadkiel wants to meet with you both in five minutes," the clinical voice says.

Elena frowns, her lips pressing together as she turns away from him. Free from those eyes, he lets out a breath and stares at her back, mind working in a frantic search for something to say. Something to ease the weight of history on their shoulders.

He opens his mouth to say her name but is stopped by her fingers drawing the hem of her shirt upward. The fabric peels off her skin, baring her back to him.

His cheeks burn, and he wonders. His eyes skim the naked surface, so vulnerable under his gaze. He wants to ask her how she can trust him not to stab it.

The ugly thought cackles at him from the shadows, mocking him in his misery. Because deep down, deep in the worst corners of himself, he knows. If he really had to he would stab her again.

. . .

After Zadkiel reassures them several more times that Dean's life is in reliable hands, he ushers them into the court room, or as the angels like to call it, The Room of Judgment. A panel table is positioned at the front of the room with a single chair placed in front of it. Zadkiel gestures for Sam and Elena to sit in the small collection of seats just behind it. His lavender scent swirls around them as he says, "Wait here," and flutters out of the room.

Sam snorts unappreciatively, turning to Elena. Before he can think up some sort of joke at the angel's expense in an attempt to break the ice, Elena sighs sharply and points to his shirt, "Yours is different than mine."

Sam hunches his neck to look at the word tagged into his chest reading "witness" while Elena's reads "key witness".

Sam cracks a smile. "Looks like you're more important than me."

She scoffs, "Yeah right, like you're not his only family member left."

He looks at her, barely a flicker of warmth returning to his body. "Well, I'm not."

She blinks at him, startled. The meaning of his reply knocks on the barrier she'd built up between them. She shakes her head, "It's probably just because I answered ninety percent of the questions-"

"I'm sorry," he says.

Instead of responding she frowns, not quite making eye contact.

He goes on, "I'm sorry I ran out yesterday." He pauses, gathering his strength. "And I'm sorry for what I did to you that night . . . and for everything I did to you after that."

Elena shuts her eyes and turns away from the intensity of his stare as if he'd blinded her. Her arms cross. After several moments of him hanging on her every movement, she sighs.

"Sam," she says, facing him again. "I have no right to judge you on the decisions you made. Everything you did was to save your brother and I can't blame you for that."

His heart swells and he tries to speak but the look in her eyes stops him.

"But-" her voice wobbles then steadies itself. Her eyes glisten with held tears. "But, it still hurts to look at you."

Sam experiences a swift kick to his gut. He stares, not knowing how to speak. He tries, "But I--"

- _love you_ , he wants to say, but the small, pathetic voice remains trapped in his throat.

Her eyebrows inch toward each other, creating a small wrinkle on her forehead as she waits. The words never make it to his tongue.

Zadkiel swings the door open. A whole congregation of angels trails behind him and slowly they fill in the seats at the panel, oblivious to the thick air they'd just cut through.

"The council has reviewed your testimonies," Zadkiel says with a comforting smile as he approaches them. "Nothing's certain yet, but they seem pretty amiable today. I'm hoping for a lenient sentence-"

Sam leans back in his seat. A whirring sound fills his head. The shadow of her nails drags across his back. He exhales, forcing himself to ignore the nausea clawing his stomach.

"Of course Dean still needs to take the stand," Zadkiel says. "I've spoken to him this morning."

"How is he?" Elena asks, sitting up straight.

The angel smiles in a way that appeases Sam slightly. It's an amused smile that only Dean can put on someone's face. The whirring fades to background noise.

"He's . . . optimistic." He says. "Or at least trying to look it."

Elena's smile mirrors his. "Sounds about right."

Zadkiel checks his watch, "He should be here any minute--"

"Listen Freckles, if I walk any faster in these I'll faceplant, so would you quit pushing--"

The familiar voice is cut off by a loud scuffling. Sam catches a glimpse of Dean getting pushed through the doors. The rattle of chains rolls against the floor as Dean's shackled feet drag forward.

Sam stands, "Dean."

Green flashes. A grin spreads across Dean's face when his eyes land on his brother.

"Sammy!" He rushes towards them, making a violent, clanging ruckus but no one seems to care. And when he spots Elena his grin grows even wider. In his hurry the chain snags on something and Dean pitches forward. The freckled angel behind him makes no effort to stop his fall.

But Sam catches him, blurting out a laugh. The sound is unfamiliar to his ears. "Dude, slow down."

"So I got a little excited," Dean says, straightening as much as he can. He brushes himself off in an attempt to salvage his dignity. A crooked smile graces his lips. "You can't blame me, I've been stuck in that freaking marshmallow for weeks."

"We're getting you out of here," Elena says. Her face is illuminated brighter than Sam's ever seen. She wipes any remaining tears away as she leans forward and whispers with a smirk, "Even if we have to burn the whole place down."

Dean sniggers and Zadkiel chuckles awkwardly. "Oh, well, we won't need to do that now will we?" He adds an extra laugh in, then gestures for Dean to take a seat in the primary chair.

Dean pats Sam on the shoulder with a brave smile, squeezing a little too hard. "You look old. Seriously, you look older than me."

Sam barks out a wry laugh. "Shut up."

They pull each other in for a tight hug, neither of them needing to say anything else. Sam tries to put everything that won't fit into words into that hug. Dean, always fluent in the language of non-verbal cues, accepts it with warm intensity.

When they let go, Dean turns to Elena. Their eyes latch together and he steps closer to her, the chain beating against the wooden floor with each step.

He takes her face in his hands and presses their foreheads together. Elena smiles, placing her hands over his. Holding him holding her.

_I love you._

Sam looks away.

Dean whispers something, and she responds in what sounds like a hopeful murmur. Sam hears the too familiar sound of a kiss brushing her forehead.

"Don't you dare cry," Dean says to her with a small laugh. "Because then I'm gonna have to cry and it'll be gross and snotty and you'll break up with me out of pure disgust."

"Oh please," she says. "I've seen your snot before. It's not that impressive." She kisses his chin. "Remember that day in the rain--"

"Dean," Sam hears his voice say of it's own accord. It comes out louder than he would have wanted. He returns his gaze to his brother and Elena, seeing how his words crush down on them. "It's time."

Dean nods, then touches a kiss to Elena's lips. He sighs, letting her go, and with a look of determination he moves to sit in the chair.

As soon as he's seated, he looks up into the jury of angels before him, green eyes fierce. "What do you want to know?"

Seemingly from the blinding light above, one angel speaks, "Begin wherever you think it is relevant, Mr. Winchester."

Dean absorbs this. He glances back at them and a feeling of pride enters Sam as he watches his brother - his real brother - speak for himself for the first time in two years. No Crowley. No demon or Mark. Just his big brother.

Dean seems to come to a decision. He holds his head high and says, "I'll start with the day I realized that I wasn't alone."

* * *

**Miami, Florida**

**Two Years Ago**

**___**

Sam drifts in and out of Dean's head. Sometimes his face surfaces, trying to catch his attention. His voice calls out, loud and desperate, but some of the words jumble. Other words just stick like hot glue is pressing them to his ears.

 _Want. Love. Stay_.

He opens his eyes.

Dean wakes with his brother's voice still ringing. The grimy room comes into focus. He inhales, the muggy air crackling into his lungs.

Right. He'd fallen asleep at the bar after they'd come back last night.

Dean shuts his eyes at the memory. Elena invades the space behind his eyelids - her eyes, lips, and red hands flashing in quick succession. He tastes blood, blunt and metallic on his tongue.

"Well, shit," he mutters, forcing himself to sit up on the sofa he'd passed out on. His shirt is on the floor across the room and his dress pants still hug his waist, haphazardly unbuttoned.

A garbled, incomprehensible noise issues through his teeth as he rubs a hand over his eye. One look out the window tells him that it's mid-morning, high time for his regular breakfast. Fries and beer.

He stumbles forward, making no effort to redress himself, and moves lazily to the kitchen. To his surprise, Elena had already beat him to it. She stands hunched over the old expresso machine pressing a series of buttons.

"Don't bother," Dean says, making her turn to him. She looks wide awake. Much too awake for the hour she left him last night.

Her eyes regard him steadily, scanning up and down his half-clothed figure before settling on his face. "Not a coffee person?"

He smiles. "Coffee's fine. It's that machine. It's been broken since the day I got here."

She frowns down at it. "And here I was trying to make you breakfast."

Dean watches her as she pokes through the pantry in search of anything appetizing. Her movements are brisk and efficient, sorting through the available ingredients quickly.

If he hadn't stared a second too long he wouldn't have caught it. But his eyes linger on her, as he finds himself doing much too often these days, and it dawns on him that something is off.

"Did you watch the news this morning?" Elena asks, unaware of his sudden alertness. She sets down her newfound ingredients and continues to rifle about the kitchen.

"Just got up, sweetheart." He takes one look at the flour, butter, and sugar on the counter and pulls open a cabinet, taking out a mixing bowl and offering it to her.

"Apparently," she says, taking it with a grateful smile, "there's a couple of killers roaming around the area. No one seems to know who they are or what they look like."

"Well, we'd better be careful then."

"We?" Her eyebrow tilts upward.

He smiles stiffly. The word sparks a question that puffs into the air like a smoke signal and Dean has no way of answering it.

Elena smirks, saving him by turning her back to him. She tears open a sack of flour and pours it into the bowl as he stares at her, trying to find what it is that's so different about her. Elena scoops a few spoonfuls of sugar into her mixture. Not looking up, she says, "Someone's calling you."

"What?" It takes a second of complete silence for him to realize his phone is vibrating in the other room. He shakes his head, "What are you, a bat?"

She snorts. "Tell your girlfriend I say hello."

He retreats without acknowledging her joke, leaving her to pound away at the lump of dough that is beginning to form in her hands. The corner of his mouth lifts at the look of deep concentration on her face.

When he finds the source of the buzzing, he sighs. The caller ID shouts at him.

"Your highness?" he answers flatly.

"Should I even ask this time?" Crowley asks, an ashy dryness in his throat. "Or should I assume that you're just incapable of asking the man a simple question?"

"He was useless anyway," Dean says.

He huffs, "If he was so useless why bother throwing him into a wall?"

Dean smirks, "It was a bookshelf."

"I don't think you understand how difficult it was for me to track down that lead, Dean," he says, then adds for good measure, "It was very difficult."

"You're getting rusty " He says, slowly making his way back to the kitchen. "Can't the King of Hell find anybody anywhere?"

"Not if they know how I find people," Crowley snaps. "I made the mistake of trusting her and I'm facing the consequences. I won't make the same mistake with you."

"Damn, this chick really did a number on you," Dean smirks. "You weren't like this when I first met your cocky ass-"

"Who was it?" He asks abruptly.

"You're gonna have to be more specific."

"The girl who ruined my plan?" Crowley says. "Come on, Dean. When it comes to you it's always Moose or some girl, and I know it wasn't Moose--"

"She was at the party," Dean replies steadily.

"Ha! I knew it. You didn't pick a fight with him because he was a lousy source. This was about some whore."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh, please."

"Can't help but be the hero, can you?" He laughs, causing Dean to frown. Crowley snorts even louder, collects himself, then asks, "What was her name?"

"How am I supposed to know? I barely talked to her."

This makes him laugh again, much harder this time, the sound grating against his ears. Dean remains silent.

"You know, I have to say," Crowley says, recovering breathlessly. "Normally, I would find this kind of weakness annoying but I just can't be mad at you. It's just too precious . . . and for a woman you just met."

Normally Dean would be irritated too, but this time all he feels is a sense of small accomplishment at having skirted past the subject.

"What about your sore spot?" He asks, determined to flip the conversation. "Are you ever going to tell me who she is?"

There is a throaty exhale. "I have no plans to do so, nor should I ever."

Dean stops walking, hovering just outside the kitchen. Through the open doorway he sees Elena peeling apples with a small blade. She hums softly, her fingers working quickly and cleanly as strips of skin slide off.

"How do you expect me to help you if you won't tell me anything?" Dean says, leaning against the doorway. Elena looks up at the sound of his voice and smiles.

"Well, thanks to your performance last night I can hardly say I trust you," Crowley barks. "I fully expect you to find the girl and the two of you to begin plotting against me the minute I tell you who she is."

"That's a little something the shrinks like to call paranoia."

"Comes with the territory yada yada blah blah blah - King of Hell problems."

"You can at least tell me what she's like. Come on, you got me curious."

Elena nods at him to come closer, gesturing for help to slice the now naked pile of apples. Dean approaches, sandwiching the phone between his ear and shoulder as he takes her knife and she finds another.

"Well, if you must know," Crowley sighs dramatically. "She was a lot like you."

Dean begins cutting the apples into strips, mimicking Elena's movements. His slices resemble hers well enough, though a bit more haphazard.

Dean laughs, "I doubt it."

"Typical Dean Winchester. So willing and hopeful to believe that no one else can suffer but you," he says. "But I'll spare you her sob story. It might strike you as too familiar."

The words agitate his good mood. He presses on, "Still have nothing to go on, Crowley."

"Look," he says half jokingly, "If you find a girl who seems too good to be true, congratulations. You found her and she's playing you."

Dean's knife slows mid-slice. Crowley's words land softly, not quite hitting him until they fully sink into his brain. He raises his eyes to look at the woman standing across from him.

When he says nothing, Crowley grumbles on, "Why do I even bother with you anymore? You've already wasted my best lead and now I have to go fix your mess-"

Dean hangs up. Elena still hums, happily nodding her head to some unknown tune. Then, as if feeling his eyes on her, she glances upward.

An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach as she smiles. "Is everything okay?"

Dean nods, pocketing his phone. His eyes never leave her face, but he becomes very aware of the knife in her hand.

"Just business," he says.

When she looks at him, he has the distinct sensation that she's looking through him, directly at his insides just as she had last night. He still feels the hot hand stinging against his cheek where she struck him. He stares right back at her, wanting to pick apart her eyes as if he could find the truth in it's pieces.

A dull beep interupts them. Elena puts down one apple but keeps the knife securely in her hand. She pulls her phone from her pocket and Dean sees the letters "BFG" flash just before she answers.

"What?" she says, in a tone not so different from how he had answered Crowley. The blade casually twirls in her hand as a soft, muffled voice comes through.

Dean keeps his eyes down, pretty pleased with the way his apple slices are turning out. He can almost picture the beautiful pie they'd make.

"Yeah," she mutters. "Just don't spend all day watching Jeopardy. You really don't need to prove to anyone how many fun facts you know about Risky Business . . . yeah . . . fine. Bye."

Dean raises his eyebrows at her. She shakes her head. "Just a bored girlfriend of mine," she explains. "Nothing you need to worry about."

. . .

Dean watches her as she works, just as he would have any other day. It had been something that he'd always looked forward to.

The bar is packed today as the tail-end of a football game plays on the static screens overhead. The men are much younger than their usual crowd, and Dean smirks to himself. Younger, stupider, and less alcohol-tolerant men always promises a good show.

"Why are the men around here constantly horny? Is there something in the drinks?" She'd once asked him in extreme exasperation one night, dropping into the stool next to him. Her knuckes were stained with some sorry asshole's blood.

Dean had snorted, eyeing her with amusement. "Yeah, alcohol. The oldest aphrodisiac in the book. "

She rolled her eyes at him. "You don't see me jumping the first guy I see after a drink."

"Now that," Dean said, chuckling, "that would be a sight to behold."

Now, as if on cue, one particularly intoxicated frat boy slurs some loud words in Elena's direction. Even in the dense crowd Dean sees her annoyance. She initially ignores him, pretending that she hadn't heard amidst the rowdiness of the room.

But the guy catches her by the arm, giving her a violent tug into his arms.

"Uh oh," Dean tsks, leaning back in his chair and sipping his drink. "Really shouldn't have touched her dude."

As predicted, Elena's fist smashes into his nose, sending him reeling backwards. Hoots of laughter sound around the bar. When Elena catches Dean's eye across the room he lifts his hands in mock applause. She offers him only an annoyed bow in return.

Dean holds up eight fingers: eight noses broken since she started working here. He salutes her with a hand placed on his heart. She waves and obscene finger at him before returning to work.

Maybe if yesterday hadn't happened things wouldn't have to change between them. Elena would still be here at the bar while he wasted himself on drink and women. She'd be that constant presence that endlessly made him laugh and never missed the chance to put him in his place. He'd find that the women would be needed less and less, and that his time would be better spent pulling a laugh out of her.

But yesterday did happen. He had hurt her. They had killed someone together and Crowley did talk to him this morning to plant this infernal suspicion in his brain. And now there is a dark frustration boiling inside as he watches Elena zip around the bar.

Bloody lips haunt his fingertips. And for a fleeting moment that night, Dean thought that he saw her eyes shine pitch black. It was quick enough to be a trick of the light.

But as much as he feels a swelling anger at Elena for possibly deceiving him, he also feels a dash of hope that betrays every molecule in his demon body. A hope that doesn't care if she's a vampire, or if she's been using him to get to Crowley.

As much as he hates Crowley for saying it, he was right. She is familiar. Everything about her, whether it be truth or lie, feels like it belongs to his world. He may not know anything real about her, yet one smile makes his day. Even her smothered expression of annoyance wakes something in him.

He finds himself lost in thought, staring blankly as Elena's busy figure disappears into the back room when a low, clear voice reaches his ears.

"Dean."

Dean shuts his eyes, willing the voice that had been circling in his head to go away.

"Dean."

The voice sounds closer somehow. Dean turns, and there he is. Again. Staring at him with tired, pleading eyes. He stands in the middle of the crowded room, not blending in the least bit.

"I thought I dealt with you already," Dean says evenly.

Sam visibly steels himself, squaring his shoulders. A nervous smile twitches at his lips. "You can never deal with me, Dean. Not permanently."

He looks exhausted, more so than when Dean had last seen him. His hair is unusually unkempt, as if he'd stopped bothering with hygiene altogether.

"Whatever it is you want, I can't give you," Dean replies, moving to walk away.

He speaks up, "I talked to Crowley. We made a deal."

Dean stops, his jaw clenching. "Now, why would you go and do a thing like that?"

Sam steps forward with a spark of fire in his eyes. "To save your sorry ass."

Dean turns back to look at him full in the face. Sam's eyes shift uneasily, regarding him boldly but with flighty caution. He thinks back to his conversation with Crowley that morning. The demon was much too dismissive of Dean's failures for there to be a deal dependent on it.

Dean scoffs, "You're bluffing."

Sam raises an eyebrow, "I'm really not but I'm sure you'd love to think so."

Dean shrugs, "Agree to disagree then."

"I'm not here to argue with you," Sam says with an contented sigh, as if he sees something that Dean cannot. "I just want you to consider something."

"Sam," Dean says calmly. "I don't need saving. I'm getting tired of repeating myself."

"Fine," Sam says with slow, thoughtful deliberation, "Then don't think of it as me helping you. Think of it as a business proposition."

Dean scans his face, "I'm listening."

Sam flashes a quick smile before saying, "I'm sure you already know that Crowley's been after this vampire for months?"

Smiling through the feeling of revoltion tightening his stomach, Dean confirms it. "He's mentioned Buffy a couple times."

Sam nods, "Well, Crowley agreed to free you and get rid of the mark if you kill her."

Cold seeps into his skin. Dean meets his brother's eyes, searching. The words rub nastily against one another in his brain as Sam's eyes flick to the back door.

_No. He can't know. It just doesn't make sense. And if he does know then why is he here talking to Dean when he could kill Elena himself?_

The thought sends an involuntary fury through him, clenching his hands into fists. He has to physically restrain himself from running into the back room and shielding her himself.

Despite a sharp pain shooting through his temples, he keeps his face plain as he says, "You are bluffing. You're just trying to get to me, but it won't work. When will you finally get it in your thick head, Sammy? No one can get to me. No one."

"Who's bluffing now?" Sam asks, his voice raising slightly. Dean detects a note of bitterness in the question. "I'm not stupid, Dean. I know you're doing everything in your power to lock me out, but you can't lock everyone out. And something tells me I just hit a raw nerve."

Dean's head is pounding. The mark cries. "Get out."

"You know who the vampire is, don't you?" Sam steps forward. A glint in his eyes gives him a look on the verge of insanity. "You're protecting her."

"Get out-"

"You know her." The bitterness isn't a note anymore but a song, as clear on Sam's face as the burning sun on a cloudless day. "And you care about her enough to jeopardize your little set up with Crowley to keep her from him."

 _Jeopardize_?

"So what are you going to do, Dean?" Sam asks. "Are you going to take the deal or protect the girl?"

"Shut up," Dean says, voice deep and dangerous. "Shut up and get the hell out of here before I make you."

Sam lifts his chin, as if that's the exact response he expected. "Just think about it."

As soon as he leaves a storm of confusion crashes over him. His head aches and his arm feels inflamed. Before he knows it his legs bring him outside.

Dean slams open the back door, exploding into the alleyway. Cold fall air slices his skin immediately. One flickering lamp buzzes behind him, wringing his nerves to their limit. His foot strikes a nearby trash bin, sending it hurtling across the asphalt.

"Dean?" a voice calls.

He looks into the shadows. Elena leans against the wall with arms wrapped around herself, shivering. Darkness cloaks her face, just barely obscuring her eyes from him. The flickering light hits her mouth just right, exposing full lips in a concerned frown.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" Dean demands. The sight of her, hazy as it is, is enough to set him on edge.

"It was getting a little crowded in there," she says. There is a slanted note at the end of her statement that raises his suspicions higher.

His breathing becomes shallow. A feeling of disgust grips him. "You usually don't mind crowds."

She's silent. After a moment's pause she steps out of the shadows, looking at him in confusion. "What's wrong, Dean? You look like hell."

That snaps something inside him. Dean grasps her shoulders violently and shoves her back into the brick wall. She shouts protests, twining her fingers in his in an attempt to peel them off.

"Get the hell off me! What are you--?"

"Look at me!" Dean barks, shaking her once roughly.

She does. Their eyes meet, hers enraged and his grave. He searches hers long and hard. He looks past the anger and confusion and those whiskey colored eyes reflect back at him. Flat and depthless.

"Son of a bitch." Dean pushes away from her and backs away slowly, shaking his head, muttering. "What did he do? What did he do to you?"

Elena's eyebrows lower in deep disturbance. "What are you talking about? Dean, you're not making any sense-"

"I know you're a vampire, Elena." His voice is low but the mark sears his skin. "You're the vampire. The last doppleganger."

She doesn't bother feigning surprise and just blinks at him. And just like that her face is swiped clear of any emotion.

Dean lets out a dry laugh. "But you knew that already. You heard our conversation on the phone this morning."

She cracks a smile, one that looks nothing like her. It's almost painful to look at.

Arm throbbing, Dean grinds his teeth and continues. "Let me ask you a question."

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow in expectation. He wants to kiss her and strangle her the same time. Anything to remove that blankness from her face.

"Are you," his fists press to his sides, "are you working with my brother?"

Her eyes darken even more. She considers him carefully before finally replying, "Yes."

Dean lets out a sharp exhale. "I thought so." The air suddenly feels like needles. He shakes his head, allowing his laugh to grow harder. "Wow, Sammy. I didn't know he had it in him. _Take the deal or protect the girl_. HA. That was freaking genius. I'm almost impressed."

Elena just stares at him, looking prepared to attack at any moment lest he make a move towards her.

"You want to know what your mistake was, Elena?" he asks, circling her. "You assumed I would protect you."

"You would have taken the deal?" She asks in disbelief. Her pretty lips pull into a grin. "We both know that's a lie."

"You don't believe I could kill you?" he says, looking at her coldly.

"No. I don't--"

He advances on her, pressing his hand to cover her neck. There is no fear in her stare as her eyes fix on him. He feels her pulse against his fingers.

Traitorously, his mind throws in front of him the image of her passionate anger the night before. The scowl right before she slapped him. The sting of betrayal set firmly in the corners of her eyes. Dean wavers.

Then, in a flash, Elena is slamming Dean into the opposite wall. His back collides with the stone and she's in front of him, staring up into his eyes as only a ghost of the girl Dean had grown to know. And just looking at that ghost nearly drives him to madness.

Her hands are hot on his skin, pressing his arms to his sides. The mark roars. She tilts her head up and gets on her tiptoes, her lips just barely grazing his jaw. His breath suspends as turmoil, hatred, and lust forms a pit in his gut.

"If you kill me," he growls. "I'll come back for you. And I will stop at nothing to kill your lying, bloodsucking ass."

Her face doesn't falter. She just leans in closer, brushing her lips with his. Heat bursts in the little air between them until she closes the distance completely. Her lying, bloodsucking tongue slips into his mouth, kissing him with bruising force. Her body keeps him pinned to the wall. Dean groans and he doesn't know if it comes from pleasure or disgust.

She smiles against his lips, gently clasping her hands to his stubbled jaw. The feeling of sharp teeth scratches the skin, and there is a quick eruption of pain as they pierce his bottom lip.

He makes a sound of agitation as she pulls away from him, leaving a gushing stream of blood flowing from his lip down to his neck. Elena lowers her mouth to follow it.

He shudders as she licks his neck clean, and he promises through clenched teeth, "I will kill you."

He feels her smile as her hands reach up to cradle his face. "That's exactly what I'm counting on."

And with one rough twist, she snaps his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for reading!! I know this chapter might have been a little confusing so don't be afraid to ask questions if you have any!


	8. The Things They Carry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, Tiff!!! This chapter is dedicated to you and your awesome self! You are seriously one of the best human beings on earth and I am so blessed to have gotten the chance to know you. This is all I can give you so I hope you like it!
> 
> Also, I apologize in advance for this monster of a chapter.

Dean lies awake listening to them as they talk outside the door.

He doesn't remember when he'd come to, just the distinct, hollow feeling wracking his chest as he stares up at a meticulously drawn devil's trap on the ceiling. He lays here, stiff and unable to move in the dark room.

"You two had better take care of this mess," says a familiar Scottish tone. "I do not want my son coming after me all angry and self-righteous if you two are idiotic enough to let his best friend or whatever he is escape and go running to him--"

"We'll take care of it," Sam says impatiently. "But if I find out you've been talking to him about this-"

"Yes, yes I get it, I'll avoid him for a few days. Lord knows he needs to be taught a lesson. See what happens when he doesn't have his mother to whine to," Rowena says with a scoff. Then, seeming to address someone other than Sam, asks, "And what about you? Can you handle this?"

The person doesn't respond. Dean pictures a tense staring contest between them until Sam interrupts hastily, "She can take care of him. She's been on him for weeks already."

Dean's lip curls.

Elena. Just the implication of her presence sends him into a tailspin of disgust.

He sits upright and rattles the cuffs binding his wrists together. The runed metal clinks and stings, sizzling against his skin. He winces, muttering a curse through his teeth.

The word falls loudly into the silent room. The space around him seems large and empty, but at the same time as if furniture had once occupied it - he sees a shadow where the bed used to be or a circle of dust where a lamp once was. He feels like he's sitting in a black hole.

Maybe they want him to feel this way, to leave him in his boiling fury to count the lies they told him.

His eyes return to the devil's trap laughing down at him. He wonders which one of them painted it, if they stood in this exact spot and drew it together with both pairs of feet dancing around each other, leaving imprints in the carpet where Dean now sits.

Or perhaps Sam had to lift her up higher so the tip of her brush could reach the smooth surface of the ceiling. Dean sees them in his mind's eye - her hoisted up in the air seated on his brother's shoulders with her legs bracketing his neck. His hands holding her thighs.

For a while the image spoils what little sense of rationality he has left. He stares, livid, at the damned thing for a solid three minutes before the madness dilutes itself, leaving room for logic to squeeze through and finally recognize it as Sam's familiar print.

His eyes rove past the devil's trap and around the room. The window is blinded shut, but pale slivers of light still stream across the burgundy-carpeted floors.

The only other objects in the room are a small black case and an armchair where a bible lies open and face-down with a pen sticking out from under it. Dean stares at it absently, noticing the deep bite marks carved into its cap.

He tries to remember all the times he'd seen her smile or laugh, thinking that perhaps he might have seen the leechy whites at some point. But no. He'd been completely and embarrassingly distracted.

Another wave of revulsion overwhelms him.

"What is she, a mute?" Rowena asks with an awkward laugh. "Yoo-hoo? Girl?"

"Uh," Sam clears his throat. "I think we're good for now, Rowena. Thanks for the help."

There is a shuffling at the door as the witch makes her departure. Dean catches Sam's voice as he says something to Elena in a low tone. Dean doesn't hear her speak but the weight of her presence lingers.

He shuts his eyes. The stench left in the air clings to him now and does little to loosen his tensed body. It fucking smells like her. Everything in here does. Her hair, her sweat, her god-damned soap contaminates the entire room. Her room. He can't breathe without tasting her.

He has to focus on something else.

But damn. Every inhale drags her into him again. Deeper and deeper each time.

He hates her. He hates every bit of her.

Dean takes a slow, slow breath, determined to ignore the mounting annoyance in his chest.

He will get out of this. He will kill her. Then this whole thing will be behind him never to be thought of again--

The door creaks open.

Dean stands, then lifts his eyes just as she walks in. His stomach takes a sharp tumble, dropping down what feels like ten stories into the ground.

Her face is blank, not even glancing in his direction as he scowls at her. There's a shaken etch-a-sketch look about her that's almost mannequin-like in hollowness, glassy-eyed and unresponsive. But despite her unnerving stillness Dean feels some leftover magnetic pull, one that tugs his attention to her.

Sam looms just behind, casting a large shadow over her that darkens her entire form. Dean's muscles immediately constrict and something dark and unpleasant twists inside him.

"Oh good, you're awake." Sam says dryly. "I thought I'd have to splash you with holy water."

Up close his brother looks aged. The hunting life isn't one to treat a person kindly but Dean had always thought Sam had a way of taking care of himself. That Sam isn't who stands in front of him today, appearing in the complete opposite of Elena. Pure anxiety and tiredness blanches his skin, the contrast making his eyes look like spots of black.

Dean's eyes rest on him briefly before cutting to Elena, who silently picks up the bible and sinks into the armchair. He doesn't miss the deliberate effort on Sam's part to stand as far from her as possible, just short of exiting the room.

A stifling quiet settles over them, though it feels anything but. The look on Sam's face is almost screaming his concern at him. Dean speaks first.

"So," he says, mostly to Elena. "I hope you know that this isn't going to work."

She doesn't reply. Her eyes remain steadily on the words in front of her. Dean just stares at her expectantly while she makes no indication of noticing.

Sam huffs, "Dean, you understand what's happening, don't you?"

Dean watches Elena for a second longer before turning to his brother fleetingly. The look doesn't last and his stare slides back to Elena. "Sure I do." He aims an aggressive finger at her, the cuffs clinking. "I'm going to bust out of here and I'm going to kill her-"

"Dean," Sam snaps, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Enough about Elena, okay? I did this. I got her involved. You can't blame her for anything." As he says this his eyes seem intent on not even skirting the space around her.

Dean smiles. "I can and I will."

The woman in question still has no reaction. He can hardly hear her breathing. Nothing.

Dean paces back and forth, eyes never leaving her as he continues to address Sam. "I expected this from you. I'd be an idiot to expect anything less. But her? I have the right to get back at a complete stranger who takes it upon themselves to lie to me."

Sam grimaces, then says stiffly, "You should really consider listening to me right now since I'm the one who decides what happens to you."

Dean guffaws. "Oh, please. Let's not pretend this'll be some big decision. You're gonna do anything to get your brother back no matter who you step on, as always. Let me guess-" He nods at Elena. "You stomped on her real hard, didn't you?"

Sam's mouth snaps shut. To Dean's smug satisfaction it takes him a second to collect himself.

"This is between you and me," he says slowly. "She has no part in this-"

"Wasn't this your idea?" Dean asks Elena, pressing himself to the farthest perimeter of the devil's trap to face her. "To dangle yourself in front of me like a bone?"

She flips the page, chewing on the pen.

Dean's nails dig into his palms, "Elena, I swear if you don't answer me right now I'll--"

"You'll what?" Sam demands, side-stepping to block his view of her. "Kill her? Yeah, we got that already, Dean."

"I'm just asking her a question."

"You know what, you're dealing with me now." A twinge of madness peppers the darkness of his eyes as he steps in front of her again. "Not her."

Dean meets his glare, realization hitting him like a slap. If Sam hadn't been protecting her before he sure as hell is now - protecting her from Dean of all people, as if he had been the one using her. As if he had been the one to pursue her.

He looks at Sam's face, whose features display wild emotion. To Dean's uncomfortable recognition he looks like what Dean feels on the inside. Confusion, anger, and insanity all trying to melt together. He looks away, smiling flatly, "I'm never going back to that life Sam, so stop trying to make me."

Anger whips across Sam's face. He steps closer to the circle, almost infiltrating it. "Well, I'm never going to give up on you so where does that leave us?"

Dean leaves the question ringing, turning away from him.

After a silence as loud and glaring as a boat horn, Sam steps backward with lowered eyes. He breathes shallowly through his nose, mutters frustrations at himself, then turns his head sharply to Elena, though still not looking directly at her.

His soft voice contradicts his pained expression. "Elena."

She lifts her eyes from the book to look at them, looking very much like she thinks they were about as lovable as two knats buzzing around her head. She looks out, faded, from behind those features and the sudden absence of her - the her that Dean knew - is beginning to grate on him.

_What did he do? What did he do to you?_

Sam sighs, the coiled energy pushing out of him and towards her. "He's all yours."

Their eyes meet awkwardly, Sam's gaze tentatively brushing hers as she stares with an unabashed disinterest.

She stands from the armchair and approaches him, causing his body to visibly stiffen. She holds a hand out, palm up. He fishes a syringe from his pocket and presses it into her hand. Eyeing her carefully, he seems to want to tell her something but decides against it, saying instead, "I'll be outside."

Sam gives Dean a final glance, hopeful, before tearing himself away. His movements are heavy and weighted with burden as he exits the room.

As the door thuds shut, their eyes snap together with a tangible click. Like magnets. Elena makes no effort to ease the asphyxiating pressure tightening between them. Its vice-like grip contracts, making him feel as if implosion would soon be the cause of his death.

"So what's your plan?" Dean asks with an ugly smirk. "Bore me to death?"

"Close," she says, grabbing hold of the case leaning against the armchair. She nears him, swallowing up the cold, gnawing space and filling it with her scent - the raw source of the second-hand drug practically laced into the air.

She pops the case open, revealing several bags of blood. The deep crimson swishes around as she picks one up. The thick red liquid bends in her hands.

Dean exhales. "Were you the one that changed my clothes?" he asks instead of acknowledging her as she fills the syringe with blood. He hadn't noticed until now the absence of the smokey bourbon smell on him.

She flicks the needle. A smirk stretches across her face, "Does it really matter?"

He stares at her.

"Fair enough," he says flatly. If he could just wrap his fingers around her neck--

A twinkle of dry humor punctuates her voice. "Well, if you really, really want to know, I had to make sure you weren't hiding anything dangerous on you."

"Oh," he snorts. "I still have dangerous things on me, clothes or not."

She groans, "Really? A dick joke?"

"Just batting what you teed up for me, darling--ARGH!"

She jabs the needle into the arm bearing the Mark. Immediately, his free hand claps onto hers and curls, squeezing hard enough to crush her fingers. An electric current vibrates through her skin and into his, and the resulting shudder is almost worth the agony that soon follows.

Sure enough an excruciating pain slices through his veins, burning white hot. His jaw locks as he glares straight into her. Straight into the eyes of hell.

Elena doesn't waver.

She bends over him, brushing her lips to his ear. He tries to turn away but is rendered incapable when her breath tickles his neck as she whispers, "You know, you're hot as hell."

"Fuck off," he says through gritted teeth.

She laughs, the sound buzzing through his neck and into the core of his body. She rips the needle from his skin and he curses, tightening his grasp on her ridiculously sturdy hand so hard that he can almost feel her blood rushing past his fingertips.

Elena looks down into his furious face. Her hair falls around him looking unbrushed, strands curling in every direction and appearing slightly wild despite her composed expression. Dean's eyes trace one particular red lock that hugs the curve of her jaw and swirls up at the end, brushing her lips as she says, "Let go."

Dean scowls, but is aware of the clear stupidity of it when no significant harm can be achieved. He only hopes he causes a sharp sting to her hand and he releases it.

White fingerprints and crescent shaped indents are visible for a few seconds before they fade, hiding behind her skin just like her.

Her dark eyes rest on the marks for a moment before darting to look at him like a startled doe. There is almost a familiar twitch of pleasure on her pink lips.

"Petty," she says. And for a second he sees a glimmer of his friend in there, the one that would call him out on his shit.

Then she's gone again.

"Now, I'm gonna ask you a few questions," she says.

Dean feels the muscles in his face strain to remain relaxed. Even in his peripheral vision he sees the alien posture she stands with, so still and unfidgeting. He closes his eyes and sinks back into his memory, where her fingers would tangle into her hair self-consciously. Where the light in her eyes would dance with curiosity or anger or even a laugh.

He opens his eyes without looking at her. "Why are you doing this?"

She ignores this, asking, "When is your brother's birthday?"

The question throws him off and it takes a moment for it to register. Annoyed, he returns, "Can't you ask him yourself?"

He feels her searching his face slowly, focus sifting through his features in a way of such intense calculation that would almost be unnerving if he had it in him to feel anything but strained anger.

She steps around him with frustrating patience slowing each movement. Her question reaches out again, this time taking its time. "What is the date of Sam's birthday?"

His eyes turn to the ceiling. "He's screwing you over. There's nothing to gain from this deal except for me slicing your head off when it's done."

She sighs. "Fine. I'll ask a different question. How did your mother die?"

He blinks, looking up with as blank an expression he could possibly muster as he follows the lines of the trap, tracing each stroke in its endless circular movement. "You know I'm right, Elena."

"Okay," she says. "Here's an easier one: what was your mother's name?"

Growing bored with this line of questioning, Dean settles into his soft prison. He shuts his eyes with the intention of tuning her out and waiting out the profound discomfort of a stranger's purified blood tearing through his body.

Elena quiets, not discouraged but in fact seeming as if she got the exact answer she was looking for. She hums in acceptance. "You're angry at me."

"No shit."

"It's good," she says. "That means you care enough to hate me. You may have blocked yourself from Sam, but I got to you. I hurt you."

"That's a stretch," he says. "You don't matter enough to hurt me."

"But it's enough to make you want to kill me?"

"It's nothing personal, sweetheart. Just business."

This seems to trigger something because he feels her lean closer. "Do you remember what you told me before you sold me out to Klaus?"

"Oh, so it's a first name thing between you two?" He scoffs crudely. "Fucking figures. I'll bet you guys had a good laugh about me afterward-"

"Do you remember?" She repeats more forcefully. When he doesn't answer she continues. "'If anything doesn't go as planned, just whistle.'" She says, a thin smile in her voice, "Then you would come rushing in to save me, right? Even if I never whistled for help."

His eyes stay closed but he hears her continued smile and imagines it framing each word.

"But now," she says. "it's my turn to save you. Whether you want me to or not."

. . .

This is getting ridiculous.

She is absolutely doing this on purpose. What other explanation could there be for her ignoring him for the past hour after his second dose? She'd asked him the same questions afterward and didn't wait long after his non-answer and unkind names thrown at her before leaving the room.

That's right. _Leaving_.

_What the hell kind of savior is she?_

But, God, he can almost feel her moving farther and farther from him.

The inexplicably tight space between them feels pulled, clawing at him, stretching him like a rubber band as if the universe thought it utterly amusing to see how far he could go without snapping.

Maybe that's what she is. Karma's hand slapping his wrists in punishment for all his wrongs.

He squirms, nearly biting his tongue off as the agony of the blood in his system throbs again. Whoever owned this blood must've been a fickle son of a bitch.

To his bitter realization, he knows the pain isn't even the part that he hates. What really sets him off is the cold, unfeeling gaze that she disarms him with. He fact that she keeps trying to force his attention away from her and towards himself. Towards Sam.

He had once seen her as a closet softie. She'd act tough around him, shoving him and making jokes to cover up for that look in her eyes, the one that made him smile to himself long after she had left.

There had always been a faint affection hiding beneath the hard armor that Dean had been able to see right through. But now everything inside the armor is silent. Dead. She behaves as if she is merely an empty body or a tool, an extension of Sam's arm.

The train of thought screeches to a violent halt as Dean's breathing shallows, heaving with blossoming rage. The ring of metal clasping his wrist feels as if it's cutting his skin.

He hadn't been aware of his clenched fists.

. . .

It feels like an eternity of waiting.

Dean can't even bring himself to shut his eyes anymore out of pure sickness of sleep.

He eyes the bible. Its presence on the floor staring up at him must be some trick of hers. Everything in this god-forsaken room gets traced back to her, placed specifically for the purposes of irritating him.

She arrived five minutes ago with a smug half-smile and two cups of coffee. One for her to drink and one that she'd happily placed outside the circle just past his reach. She even took the cover off so the smell could float to his nostrils with mocking ease.

And she had called _him_ petty.

But he refuses to let it bother him, even when she eats a slice of pie two feet away and his stomach complains at the sweet smell. She takes each hearty bite with a sound of contentment, never once even glancing at him.

He should be the one who gets to ignore her, not the other way around.

He closes his eyes again, determined to wrench his concentration away from her. He does fairly well for a while, allowing his mind to wander until he hears the cutting squeak of a faucet handle.

His eyes reopen, then dart around the room for the cursed woman.

The stretch of space around him is empty again. Freezing isolation settles in his chest and he shivers, and he curses her yet again for taking his shirt and pants. Though somewhere, crushed and pushed to the back of his mind, he knows that the cold pit in his chest could not be melted by physical warmth.

Then he hears her.

As if the devil herself had read his mind, she starts to sing softly. Dean releases a breath he didn't know he was holding.

_Hold me close and hold me fast_   
_The magic spell you cast_   
_This is la vie en rose--_

The sound drips from the bathroom door, muffled by water drumming the inside of a shower. Warm steam leaks from the crack under the door carrying the smell of soap. Slowly it drenches the room.

Her voice floats to him and the cold sighs happily.

He thinks he's going insane.

. . .

_Why the fuck is this room so cold?_

She'd kept away from him, never leaving the room but never quite looking at him.

His body had long stopped functioning correctly. To his eyes the circle seems to grow smaller each time he moves, his muscles more cramped and mind more restless. Her voice becomes a nuisance, grating on his nerves with no available escape.

His attention bounces between Elena and the sounds outside of the motel - cars cursing, birds twittering, and the occasional neighboring doors latching. Somewhere in the ricochet he notices something.

"Where is he?" Dean asks tiredly.

"Hm?" She's half asleep on the chair with one leg draped over the armrest.

"I don't hear him pacing outside anymore."

She cocks her head to the side, listening. "I've been tuning it out for so long I almost didn't notice."

He glances at her from his spot sitting on the floor. "You don't care where he went?"

She sighs, "Not really, but I'm guessing you do since we're still talking about it."

A wry grin spreads across his face and he shakes his head. "You know, you're a damn hypocrite."

"Bitch, leech, whore, and now hypocrite. This is quite the list you've made up--"

"You put all this effort just to make me confront my 'feelings' about Sam," he snarls, "and there you are ignoring him, barely noticing his existence. Maybe you're the one with emotional issues."

"I do have emotional issues," she admits, taking him by surprise. "But the difference between you and me is that I confronted them already."

"Let me guess, you're a better, healthier person whose life is just fucking fantastic now that your feelings are in order - blah, blah, blah-'"

"Something tells me that it'll work out better for you than it did for me," she says flatly.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Elena offers another bored exhale. "Fine. I'll call Sam if that'll make you happy."

He frowns at the abrupt shift in conversation. "I asked you a question."

She returns to her attitude of ignoring him, sitting up and pulling out her phone to dial Sam's number.

"HEY!" He barks. "I'm talking to you." When she puts the phone to her ear, Dean stands and snaps, "Listen sweetheart, you don't get to just kidnap me then ignore me. Ask me questions but never answer mine.  After everything you did to me you can't just ignore me."

When Sam doesn't answer Elena hangs up. Her unreadable stare remains on the phone for a tense moment before it pierces his face. A blink of conflicted, worried energy flashes behind her eyes as she asks, "What do you want from me?"

Startled at the stark nakedness of the question, he hesitates and wonders who she's asking.

_I want to go back to before I was ruined by you._

_I want to erase Sam's shadow from your back._

_I want to see you._

He blinks, then settles for, "I want you to let me go."

Elena just smiles, then sets down the phone next to her. "You know I will eventually."

A film slides behind her eyes but all it shows are empty silhouettes, giving her a look of distance that he can't quite penetrate.

As she slouches back into her seat, eyes closing, Dean can't shake the seeds of doubt she keeps planting in him.

. . .

The fifth dose is brutal. His insides shred itself and erratic, involuntary tremors grip his body as he crumples into the floor.

Elena watches him, eyebrows shifting when he lets out a hoarse scream. He begins to shake violently.

His nerves are burning, his muscles coiling and his temples throbbing. Then he feels her cold hand reach across the barrier and clasp his face. He shuts his eyes, letting himself latch onto the one pleasant feeling of her touch.

She seems to know that it helps because he vaguely feels her kneels down next to him just outside the circle. Her knees brush his side.

Delirious, Dean swivels his eyes to hers. Her unreadable stare is intoxicating, like deep pools of whiskey in a desert watching him, waiting for him to give in and drink.

Her lips part slightly, and he distantly hears her breath catch between them before he's overcome by seizing spasms.

"Dean," she says steadily. Her voice comes across as a soft murmur in his fog. "Stay with me."

He can barely feel his body anymore. It's just a blur of blinding pain. But her hand is still on him, and that's what he hates. It's even more excruciating than the blood because all he wants is to grasp that hand and hold it to his face, begging her to come back to him, to shed her numb skin and look at him the same way she had two days ago. He wants her to hate him. To hurt him. To do anything but feel nothing when she meets his eyes.

Her hand is sticky against his cheek, relentless and unmoving, grounding him to reality.

The room's silence grows more apparent as tremors subside slightly and he breaks into a cold sweat, shivering jerkily. He's panting, eyes wet with almost tears.

His consciousness fades in and out. Each time Dean startles awake in a fit of feverish disorientation, Elena is there, sitting cross-legged on the carpet with him. He feels the absence of her hand momentarily before she lies down, remedying it by pressing her body next to his with the same firm energy.

He drowsily wonders how she knows.

. . .

By the time he regains full consciousness the sweat has dried. His brain is desperately off balance and his vision bordering on fuzzy hallucination. He rests his eyes on her then, trying with difficulty to recall why he feels his heart clench at the sight of her when she's the one who kidnapped him.

He reaches his hand up to hover over her face, his muscles acting on pure instinct while his brain struggles to pull back. Attempting to sit up, he's hit immediately with a shooting headache.

"Keep still," she says as he groans.

She sits up and scoots close, looking him in the eyes as if searching them for something. He stares back, eyebrows still angled in intense pain. She leans over him and Dean sighs, the ache dulling slightly.

"Dean," she says, calmly and gravely. "I need to ask you some questions."

He tries to twist away from her then but she doesn't let him. She plants a firm hand on his chest, branding it just over his tattoo.

"Stop trying to avoid it, Dean."

He struggles to keep from shaking again, and meets her eyes. Hoarsely, he whispers, "Don't."

She understands but doesn't retreat. "You know I have to."

He does. But he also knows he can't hear it this time. He can tell she does too because her touch on him softens, though her eyes never do.

"Dean," she starts slowly. "When is your brother's birthday?"

The dam breaks.

The memories swarm the small opening she'd punctured in his head.

_Say hello to your baby brother, Dean. Say hello to Sam._

Dean looks away from the her. He sees an infant curling into himself, warm and wrapped in a thick blue blanket. The color is still fresh and vibrant. Mom and dad had just bought it a few days ago, wanting their new son to come into the world without ever having to feel the cold.

Sam had been soft and small, so small, with round, innocent eyes that looked at Dean as if he was who he had been waiting to meet this whole time--

"Dean," Elena repeats gently. "What was the date Sam was born?"

His eyes close. The baby's face flickers behind them, happy and so blissfully oblivious to what was to happen to him. How the world would chew him up and spit him out then have the nerve to wait for him to die, ready to laugh and say "finally" once he drew his last breath.

Dean was supposed to protect that baby. That baby was supposed to grow up and have a real life, one that didn't kick him while he was down or infect everyone who came in contact with him.

His voice nearly cracks when he answers.

"May 2nd. . . 1983."

Elena smiles. "Good. I need to ask you another one."

He shakes his head. "Please," he rasps, his pride too torn to bother salvaging itself anymore. "Please, don't."

His vision is spotty at the edges, just barely able to see the look of watchfulness in her face. The color of her eyes is bright as she pauses. Instead of replying, she reaches for his hands. She holds them in her both of hers, thumbing his palm slowly, drawing light circles into it.

"How about this," she offers after a stretch of silence. "For every question you answer, I'll answer it too."

He doesn't pull his hands away like he would have before. He just leaves them there along with her suggestion as his mind momentarily goes blank, trying to recall if he in fact knew anything personal about her. The blurriness of his thoughts gives no answer.

Elena lets out a breath then says quite briskly, "My brother was born October 13th, 1994."

Dean listens silently as she traces unknown names and memories into his hand with the tip of her finger. "He's two years younger than me, stubborn, and he hates that I'm a vampire. He tried to kill me a few times." She lifts her gaze to fix on him intently, as if unsure if he would respond to her next question. "What was your mother's name?"

Dean swallows, his head pounding and his body aching. The only part of him completely removed from the pain was his hand.

"Mary Winchester," he says, the sound rumbling from somewhere deep in his throat. He struggles to untangle himself from his memories of her, afraid that as soon as he gives in they'll strangle him. He huffs, then eyes her warily.

"Isobel was my biological mother," Elena says dutifully. "Miranda was the woman who raised me and who I take my name from. Gilbert."

Elena Gilbert. Dean studies her face, testing the name in his head.

Her lips tighten, and she asks, "Can you describe how your mother died?"

The fleeting intimacy unravels, as if she had waited for this exact point of weakness to strike and the information she'd just shared was a mere calculated transaction. He feels his whole body tense at the thought of it and tears his hands from her hold. "I'd rather not."

He can see the frustration on her face, "But you said--"

"I never said a damn thing," he snaps, his breath still ragged and uneven from the previous dose.

Elena's jaw shifts, then, "You know why you're here, Dean. Sam is trying to save you."

"I never agreed to play this game of yours. These feelings you're forcing on me is exactly why I shouldn't be saved, don't you get it?" His wrist begins to bleed as he strains his arms against the cuff. Red streams down in thin lines through the Mark. "You know what, I think you're the one that needs to be tied up, Gilbert. This is a messed up thing you're doing. You're messed up, not me."

Elena makes no attempt to defend her sanity. Her expression is unaltered as she replies, "I do get it. But you know that these questions aren't to torture you. I know you do. And your reaction just proves why I still need to ask them."

He laughs harshly, the sound forced and violent in the still air. "HA. I'll bet Sam fed all that shit to you. All the steps and procedures. God, it's like I can hear his voice coming through your mouth-"

"The questions were my idea. I thought I needed a way to test your level of humanity and apparently I was right." She removes herself from his side. In his fever he can barely follow the movement with his eyes. All he feels is an abrupt gust of cool air.

Dean snorts, "So what, did I fail your little test?"

"No, actually. You're doing pretty well," she says so swiftly that it's almost defensive. "You connected the memory of your brother and were emotional when I asked about a touchy subject. Those are very human traits. But your conscience isn't quite there yet."

"Right, and how the hell would you know?" he demands.

Elena stares at him with a look of patronizing patience on her face. "You used the two pieces of information you learned to hurt me. My name and my relationship with Sam. You threw both at me in anger."

"I'm sure it has nothing to do with me being handcuffed and tortured."

She crosses her arms. "You're lucky it's not the dungeon."

"I'm lucky? I would take the dungeon over this hell any day," he growls under his breath. That seems to wake something in her because her eyes burn into him.

"Why?" she asks.

Dean hesitates. "Because . . ."

"Because what?"

_Because I'm confused. Because the carpet is soft and the room smells like you and I can't fucking think straight._

He glares at her, "Look, sweetheart, whatever it is you're doing, it won't work. You can break me over and over, make me want to kill you, make me want to die -- fine. But honey, I've been broken before and nothing you do will make me stay that way."

She stands over him, almost predatorily, and says, "You obviously don't get it." She reaches to wrap a hand around his bleeding wrist and Dean flinches when there is a loud click. He feels his arm drop down from it's hold, the pulled muscles in his forearm finally going slack.

His eyes raise to hers and she says with such a dead tone that it is impossible for him to dissect it in his deranged state: "I'm not trying to break you. I'm trying to fix you."

Right at the end he detects the smallest inflection of resentment in her voice that is quickly cloaked when she chucks a small rag at him to clean his wrist.

Dean sits up, stretching his back as she turns hers on him. He wonders if she'd meant this as a sort of passive-aggressive apology. Or perhaps she only means to prove a point, exert her power over him.

He glances in her direction only to find her already halfway out the door. She pulls it shut behind her with a soft snap.

But Dean can't help but register the noise as a desperate slam.

. . .

Sometime in the last hour Miami had forgotten that it was autumn and the morning burst into a heat wave. The sun is unforgiving, cooking them through the windows and happily blinding them.

He's on his sixth dose now and all he can think about is this ridiculous, determined silence she'd taken up after their argument. It takes all he has not to spout offenses at her, to continue his rant about how futile her plan is. How he still feels her arms holding him when he shuts his eyes.

Elena had seemingly gotten over the awkwardness with efficiency, not once looking at him if unnecessary. And when it is necessary her looks are even less invested than before if that's even possible.

She sits across the room with one hand holding open the bible, scanning it with interest while the other wipes sweat from her forehead every now and then. That pen is sandwiched between her teeth, wobbling up and down depending on the pressure of her bite.

Dean sighs with deliberate loudness, staring at her as he sits slouched on the floor. For the past stretch of silence he'd stared at the ceiling, willing it to somehow sweat from the heat and melt the paint away. But no such luck occurred and he is left in the frigid shadow of her cold shoulder.

With nothing else to distract him from the pain all he has is one extremely uncooperative vampire.

When Elena doesn't respond to his sigh, Dean, unwilling to be the one to break the silence, grabs the unused cuffs next to him and launches them at her. They fly across the vast expanse between them and smack her right in the hands, knocking the bible free and onto the floor.

She blinks stiffly, and for an exhilarating moment Dean thinks she might explode on him.

But to his disappointment she just picks up the cuffs and bible, places them on her lap and continues reading.

_Are you fucking kidding me._

_Okay, new plan_. He stands, and he feels his legs threaten to topple him over but out of sheer determination he remains on his feet. It's when he shrugs off his t-shirt that he finally feels her eyes on him.

He smirks, clears his throat loudly, then spits as much saliva as he can onto one spot of the shirt. Then, standing at full height so he can just touch the ceiling, he begins to scrub at the devil's trap. He can already feel the ink burning his skin through the cloth, but he persists, determined to be as irritating as possible.

"Son of a bitch," he mutters when the cloth begins to singe. He feels her eyes boring into the side of his face and he represses a snicker.

There is a long, long pause that is filled only with his complaints of pain. It isn't until half the cloth is blackened along with parts of his fingers that she finally speaks:

"Are you an idiot?"

He smiles, but doesn't look at her. "Hm? What's that?"

He can almost feel her rolling her eyes. "You're a child," she says. "That's not going to do anything."

He shakes his head. "Got nothing else to do. Who knows, I might be able to get through eventually."

"Sit your ass down, Winchester."

He grins, "Who's gonna make me?" He continues scrubbing through the pain, sensing her churning from all the way across the room. She mutters under her breath before finally dropping the book and cuffs onto the floor and approaches him. She moves to stand directly in front of him to stare up at his messy handiwork.

After yet another strained pause she says, "You're going to destroy your hand."

"You can always fix it, right?"

"I can, but that doesn't mean I will."

He lowers his hand and meets her eyes. They're challenging, almost reminiscent of his Elena and he allows himself to relish the small spark for just a moment. "You said you were here to fix me. I believe you."

She scoffs. "Like I said. You're an idiot."

"Because I decided to trust you?"

"Because you think you can get on my good side by pretending you trust me." Her gaze doesn't relent, forcing him to follow through. Her lips curve into a small smile. "You should know I don't have a good side. Not anymore."

The meaning lurking inside the words strikes Dean as interesting. He doesn't react visibly, and instead asks: "You know what I think your problem is? I think you just have a big old void in you that needs filling."

Unimpressed, one of Elena's eyebrows twitches upward. "Was that another dick joke?"

He shrugs. "It is what you want it to be."

"Well, keep your pants on," she says with annoyance.

"Your loss."

"I'll cry about it later."

Dean chuckles, "Yeah, well take pictures for me, doll. How often does that happen, every century--"

"Shut up."

"Aw, come on Gilbert, it was just a joke."

"No," she hisses. "Shut up."

He does. Then he hears it: a car door slamming just outside the room.

"Get me out of this trap right now," he whispers sharply.

She ignores him. He wants to throttle her as she crouches down by the window and peers through the blinds. "Looks like four demons--"

"Let me out of this goddamn trap or I'll shout for help--"

"--and they brought fire power," she smirks to herself. "Crowley's either stupid or desperate."

"HELP! HEEELLPP!"

He barely finishes the word before her hand slaps over his mouth. Elena had leapt into the circle and tackled him, using her body to weigh down his thrashing one.

And damn is she strong. Almost as strong as him.

They wrestle for what feels like forever and he actually breaks a sweat because of the affects of this fucking blood. He growls against her hand, "I am not above hitting you--" but the words collide with her fingers, muffled and incoherent.

"Keep still and shut up or I might have to up your dosage," she says. Her palm remains firm over his mouth, close and hard enough for him to feel the muscle pressing onto his tongue.

Dean stares up at her, a challenge shining through his eyes, daring her to do just that when there are four demons outside. She seems to glean exactly what he's thinking because she grins at him. "You think I can't take them out without your help?"

Body still hostaged by her limbs, he tries his best to shrug. Elena looks ready to fire back a response when there is a aggressive knock at the door.

" _We know you're in there, open up_!"

Elena unpeels her hand from his lips to reach for her phone two feet away on the floor. He doesn't bother hiding his amusement as she tries to reach and hold him down at the same time. The phone is just past her reach. The knocking repeats itself.

"Oh-ho, you are so screwed," Dean snickers.

She gives up on the phone and frowns at him just as the demon outside shouts into the door, "If you don't open the door in one minute we will open fire!"

Elena huffs against his neck and he just lays there, happily savoring every second of her predicament. Her legs shift and Dean recieves a not-so-gentle elbow in the stomach. A muffled oomph slips from his mouth as she turns and shouts back, "I have Dean Winchester and he's got purified blood in his system. If you fire there's a big chance you'll kill him."

Silence.

She tilts her head, listening intently until finally:

"Bad news for you, Killer," she mutters with a glance in his direction. "I don't think they care."

He squirms. "What? How do you--"

A bullet zips through the air and just above them, narrowly missing Elena's head. She ducks down, using her body to shield his.

"That was _not_ a full minute--" she says with irritation, barely flinching. It's quiet as she listens for another second. Appearing to hear something disagreeable, she freezes, mutters a curse, then presses him down into the floor with urgent force.

Dean hears the click before they open fire. In an explosion of chaos there are bullets and screams ripping through the walls of the motel room. The beating sound of gunfire pounds his ears. With his field of vision blocked by Elena, all he sees are flecks of wood and wallpaper flying through the air.

Suddenly she stiffens and screams into his chest. Her fingernails dig into his skin.

When the gunfire subsides there is absolute quiet. The only sound is of the torn wallpaper flapping, struggling to stay on the wall. There is a long, tense pause as they strain their ears for signs of a second wave.

"That was a little excessive," Elena mutters breathlessly.

Dean looks down at her as she slowly releases her tight hold on him. A blossoming red on her back catches his eye.

"You're hit," he hisses.

"You think?" she says, unpeeling herself from him.

"Let me see--"

"I have to take care of them first," she says, gritting her teeth.

"Elena, let me out of here!"

But she's already across the room softly rifling through the closet. When she emerges, she's holding a small knife. She shoots him a quick wink before running out the door.

 _That's it_ , Dean thinks as he stands, putting his shirt back on. _She really is insane. She belongs in a freaking asylum_.

A startling flurry of gunshots interrupts his internal tirade. He freezes, the Mark starving and ready. He shifts from foot to foot, takes two paces left and three right, crossing and uncrossing his arms. There is a loud commotion just outside the door and out of his sight. The too recognizable sound of fists hitting flesh carries through the sticky afternoon air.

Cold sweat collects in his palms.

Then silence.

_Come on, come on._

_Fuck, Gilbert, what the hell are you doing?_

A uneven shuffling alerts him to the demon's presence. Dean stills, watching when a figure steps through the doorway.

The first thing he sees is platinum blonde hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. Something in the demon's posture suggests military training in a past life.

"Let's not waste time here," Dean says, eyes flitting from the unfamiliar demon's eager face to the gun in her hand. "Are you here to take me or kill me?"

The woman makes a show of thought, "We were told to bring you back."

Dean hears the crisp "but" sticking out of her statement, blunt with arrogance. He sighs. "Well, if you could at least get me out of here before you kill me, I would really appreciate it."

Her raised brow tells him that she has zero intention of complying with his request.

She cocks her gun, pointing it directly at his face. "It was an honor to meet you, Dean Winchester."

Dean works his jaw for a moment, disgruntled and knowing for a fact that he would never hear the end of what he was about to do next. Already annoyed at himself, he puts his lips together and blows, sending a clear whistle rushing out.

Momentarily, the demon falters in surprise. A wide triumphant smile spreads across Dean's face.

She frowns, "What's so funny?"

Dean keeps on grinning. "It wasn't an honor to meet you."

She has no time to react because Elena's hand thrusts though her back and out her chest, clutching a dark red heart.

Wet gurgling sounds issue from the demon as she collapses and Dean almost feels bad for her. Ugh, he thinks. This blood is ruining him.

Elena breathes a laugh and her hand drips red, the same color patching her arm and face.

"Told you I could do it," she says lightly, tossing him the now dead heart.

He dodges it and it lands on the carpet with an audible squish. He scoffs, "You got shot. Doesn't count."

"It totally does. That should earn me extra points." She lifts her chin. "And they were vervain soaked bullets too."

Vervain? Dean stares at her, and she seems to catch her mistake. She bites her lip hard, nearly pulling at the skin. Before he can say anything she hurries on, "I don't know how Crowley found this place but we need to move."

Dean raises his eyebrows. "We?"

She smirks, masking her error, "I don't know about you but it seems like Crowley's dogs keep trying to off you."

"What else is new?" He plants himself in the circle, determined to keep the leverage on his side. "Besides, you're the one he hates. He even designed special bullets just for you. I say you just let me go. Then you can make a run for it and we'll never have to see each other's faces ever again."

Her eyes laugh at him. "Wouldn't you just love that?" She smiles, then turns to collect the the remainder of the pack of blood from the floor.

It's only then that it truly occurs to him that she's willing to get shot to keep him out of harms way. The thought strikes at him, landing in a part of him that had been empty for some time.

Dean regards her with a sharp glare.

He can smell the blood on her, seeping through her clothes and it dawns on him that he may be able to overpower her. The idea is almost appalling to him. He's trapped so deep in his mind considering his options that he doesn't see her until it's too late.

"Almost forgot your seventh dose," she says, sinking the needle into his arm. " _Sweetheart_."

. . .

Using a surprising amount of threat and force, Elena drags a weak and disgruntled Dean down the street in search of a car.

She'd left a hasty, passive aggressive message in Sam's voicemail demanding that he pick them up but after three texts and five attempted calls, she'd decided waiting idle wasn't worth the risk.

"That one," Elena says, indicating an unassuming grey sedan sitting in the neighboring parking lot. "They'll be able to find it once it's reported stolen so we'll have to ditch it later."

"Or," Dean says with mock concern, "You could wait for Crowley to arrive and settle all your issues once and for all."

Elena snorts, casting him a look of disbelief as she continues to yank him toward the car. "Yeah, because he'll be so willing to do that after what I did to him."

Dean glances at her curiously. She looks pale in the afternoon sun, and there's an agitated set to her jaw. There's no way she would let slip a thing like that under normal circumstances.

He ventures a smirk, "How's that gunshot wound doing?"

"Shut up," she winces, though her hand is still firm on his arm. He hadn't been able to get a good look at the bullet, which is surely still embedded into her back. Every time he'd made to look at it she'd either turned away or shoved him forward.

"You know you're actually a lot less mature than you pretend to be sometimes," he says as they reach the car. "Talk about denial. You have a bullet in your back and you won't even let me take it out."

She wipes away the sweat accumulating on her forehead. "Because you'd never do it." She slams her fist into the driver window, shattering the glass.

The sound saves him from having to reply.

He'd passed out somewhere between Orlando and Jacksonville. When he comes to it's night, the sky a sea of heavy blackness. They've been driving for hours already and his blood is slowly flushing itself of any agent of purification. His body feels stronger. Not that Elena cares at the moment.

Her skin is almost grey now and sweat lines her body. Her breaths are shallow and uneven as she pulls the car into a motel parking lot.

He watches her with a look of apprehension on his face as she takes a deep, shaky breath.

"There's a hotel a couple blocks from here." She looks at him with firm determination. "We'll leave the car here to throw them off."

"Can you even make it?" he asks.

She lifts herself off the car seat. "We'll just have to wait and see, won't we?"

They get to the hotel relatively whole. It's a lot nicer than Dean is used to. A chandelier sparkles above them, reflecting their hunched figures and Dean can see Elena's blood dripping on the white tile as they trudge to the reception desk. Somewhere between the parking lot and here they had started leaning on each other.

"Excuse me, ma'am!" The receptionist nearly shrieks. She scurries toward them, clicking her heels and glaring with wide, shocked eyes.

"Give us the best room you have available," Elena says hurriedly.

"What-how-should I call an ambulence or--?"

"I'm fine. Nicest room. Please."

The concerned woman's eyes suddenly relax into the compulsion and she turns saying, "Your suite will be on the tenth floor. Room 1013. You'll find it's quite spacious and quiet . . ."

But Dean had already tuned out, staring at the drooping woman in his arms. He feels his strength returning to him just as Elena's appears to decline.

"Thank you," he says when she doesn't reply. He takes the keys and pockets them, giving the dazed receptionist an appreciative nod.

Dean half-carries Elena to the elevator. For reasons he'd rather not try to decipher at the moment, he allows her to believe that she's the one carrying him.

"1014?" She asks drowsily.

"13," Dean corrects.

"Right."

Her determined gaze leads them when the elevator dings open. Dean walks steadily now, with arms ready to catch her lest she stumbles.

As soon as they reach the oversized room, Dean unlocks it and helps Elena to the massive bed. Sticky red is glued to his fingers, adhering the fabric of her shirt to the skin of his hand.

"Urgh," she mutters, making a pained face. She breathes a shaking breath before settling into the bed, snapping, "Watch it!"

Dean rolls his eyes, "You're welcome."

She grunts as he heads to the bathroom to wash his hands. At the sink he sees his own face hovering in front of him, looking healthier than he had in a while. Color blotches his cheeks and his eyes look back at him, clear.

His chest feels lighter and heavier all at once, and as he stares at the blood washing down the drain he feels some dirty part of him pulling away from his skin and down with it.

When he strides out of the bathroom he hears her talking on the phone. Her voice is hoarse and she cuts short every other word as she flinches in pain.

"Yes, that's correct," she's saying. "Two plates. And whatever beer you have in stock. We're not picky. Oh, and could you send up some extra pillows? My husband's had a rough day and could use some comfort . . . Okay . . . That sounds great, thank you."

She hands up the phone with difficulty, groaning as she throws the thing onto its reciever.

"What did you order?" he asks.

Elena jumps, as if she hadn't heard him enter the room. Her eyes are glazed and unfocused as she looks at him.

"Hm? Oh-" she shuffles around until her hands find the menu she'd left atop the bed. "The most low maintenance food they had was the spaghetti. I don't know about you but I'm not in the mood for cracking open oyster shells--"

"Let me see your back."

She turns, facing him directly. "I'll deal with it myself."

Dean makes a sound of disbelief. "You're being an idiot, just let me look at the damn thing."

"No."

"Elena-"

"Why haven't you left yet?" She demands, standing from the bed and resting one hand against the headboard. "You've recovered already and I'm obviously incapable of fighting you. Why haven't you ditched me?"

Dean opens his mouth, then when he finds he has no answer, closes it again.

"You stayed because you want to kill me, right? Just like you said you would."

"No," he says before he even knows he means it. The thought had occurred to him, that he could let the poisonous bullet fester in her body until it kills her. But he doesn't want that.

"I don't believe you," Elena's voice breaks from exhaustion, but her face remains strong and vacant. "Were you going to wait 'till I fell asleep to strangle me? How did you want to do it, Dean? Maybe you wanted to stab me with a knife? Maybe slice my throat open--"

" _Fuck_ , Elena, no okay? I said I don't want to kill you!" He shouts, passing a hand through his hair.

And just like that the ground falls from under him. With that one admission he knows that he'd been lying to himself this whole time.

Elena quiets, looking uncertain for the first time.

"You did something to me, okay?" he says, meeting her eyes with adamance. "You messed me up when you shielded me like that."

Her eyes search him and her shivering arms curl around herself.

Dean lowers his voice, "Let me see your back."

She huffs, logic and distrust warring inside her head. Dean can see the skittishness of someone who'd already been stabbed in the back before as she bites her lip, suppressing another groan of pain. A long pause stretches between them.

"Fine," she says shortly. She turns and storms toward the bathroom. He follows silently, not wanting to reset her back to her uncooperative state.

Elena stops in front of the sink, supporting herself on its countertop. In the mirror Dean sees her jaw clenched so tightly that the bone juts out.

He braces himself as she lifts her blood soaked shirt to expose her back. He pushes aside the dark hair hanging in front of it. It's smooth, clean despite the number of scars he's sure are lurking beneath her skin. He wonders how many times someone has tried to leave their mark on her, only to have the skin stitch itself back together, erasing any evidence of pain.

"There's two bullets," he says unecessarily.

She laughs breathily. "Yes, thank you."

He brushes the tip of his index finger over one bullet and she stiffens. "You let me think there was only one."

"Just get them out," she says gruffly. Her fingers curl over the edge of the countertop.

Dean releases a breath, gripping a hand to her shoulder and holding her still. "Try not to scream."

He plunges his fingers into the wound in search of the smooth metal. Elena snaps her teeth shut, moans of anguish slipping through in breathless spurts.

It takes a total of five minutes for both bullets to be removed. By the time both are in the palm of Dean's hand Elena nearly collapses into his arms, panting.

"Got you," he says, relief finally settling into his chest. He wraps his free arm around to embrace her. They stand in silence, resting against one another for what feels like several minutes.

Dean smiles. "My mom died in a fire."

Elena sniffs, and for a second Dean doesn't think she'll respond. He feels her fingers grip his arm and she releases a sigh. Her face presses into his chest.

"My mom drowned."

The muffled words float in the air, repairing the lines stretching between them, connecting them. Dean smiles into the top of her head, thinking, hoping, that just maybe he could cut the lines that are dragging her down to hell.


	9. Tell Me How

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I know we all love Deanmon being all scary but I slipped and made him a precious sin-namon roll kay bye enjoy this LONG AF chapter

Little Heaven, Delaware  
Present  
____

He doesn't mean to stare.

Sam doesn't even realize he's doing it until he's snapped from his trance and has to physically force his eyes away from the hand that she'd run through the back of her hair, dividing the deep brown.

"Mr. Winchester?"

The angel's voice is jarring, causing him to jump. Sam can't even identify which one of them had spoken until he speaks again.

"Mr. Winchester, are you ready to begin again?"

It's the angel on the far end of the panel. They'd taken a break in the midst of Dean's testimony and Elena had immediately left Sam's side in favor of Dean's. Sam doesn't blame her, particularly because she'd just been repeatedly beaten by such unpleasant memories - the unpleasant parts mostly being him.

Sam had stood from his seat and walked around the building aimlessly, having no desire to witness any more of Dean and Elena's interaction than strictly necessary. As much as he misses his brother and Elena he can only stand so much of it.

But eventually he had to make his way back, and as soon as he had entered the room he was greeted by that sparkle on her finger.

His heart stutters and something in his stomach sinks.

"Mr. Winchester? Sam Winchester?" the angel repeats with more force.

This time he isn't the only one who jumps. Elena whirls around, startled, until her eye-line tangles with his. He can almost see the joy shrinking in them as she quickly averts her gaze.

Sam clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Dean meets his eyes firmly and smiles, though Sam can see the strain in its corners. Whether it's truly there or if his paranoid imagination is just mocking him, he can't tell anymore. But what he does know is that Dean looks healthy. Good. Whole. Sam has to count that as a victory, even if the three of them are in this mess.

When the panel summons Elena and Sam to take a seat next to Dean, Sam takes a breath and approaches the pair at the front of the room. Clearly, they'd stopped talking the second he walked in, maybe to spare his feelings or perhaps simply out of genuine lack of something to say to him.

He wonders if everything had already been said.

He moves to the seat nearest to him just as Elena reaches a hand forward to do the same. The room's light bounces off her hand and into Sam's eyes.

"Oh-I-sorry-" she stutters, burning pink and thrusting the damning hand into her pocket. Her wide, flustered gaze raises to meet his, asking him a question so clear that he can almost hear her voice echoing inside his skull.

_Did you see?_

And he had hoped that it had just been a trick of the light.

He offers her what he thinks is a comforting smile, trying his best to soften the roughness of his teeth as he bares them. He hopes the smile says, _Yes, I did. Congratulations._

But her returning look of tightening discomfort tells him that no, he hadn't congratulated her. In fact he had likely said, _Yes, I did see it and all I want to do is rip the fucking thing off your finger_.

He wants to demand why she'd put it on now of all times. Just to hurt him? To spite him? To remind him of what he did as if he would ever fucking forget?

Sam winces at his own transparency, then gestures for her to go ahead of him with a forced, "After you."

She answers with a stiff half-smile, and after an awkward game of musical chairs, Sam finally settles himself in the seat to Dean's right while Elena takes one to Dean's left, making the older Winchester an unhappy buffer between them.

"We need to clarify a few things," the angel who had called them says, then brings his attention to Elena. "Miss Gilbert, is it accurate to assume that once you removed Dean Winchester from his initial location that you had no intention of fleeing or pursuing violence?"

"That's a difficult question," Elena says slowly. "I don't know if I had any intentions -"

_You didn't._

"It's hard for me to understand what I was thinking at the time because I wasn't myself. . . or at least, I wasn't who I am now," she sniffs, making an effort to appear unruffled by the angel's severe eyes. "Outside of trapping Dean, I don't even think I made plans."

_I did._

She looks at Dean, who smiles and gives her an encouraging nod. From where Sam is sitting all he sees is Elena's grateful look in response.

The angel seems to accept her answer and turns to Dean. "What about you? Was there any premeditation on your part?"

Dean sighs, running a hand over his face. "I don't know . . . I guess all I was thinking at the time was 'Shit, I'm free'."

_But you weren't._

"I wasn't." Dean makes a stilted laugh. "But being with Elena made me feel like I was, even if it was for just a second."

_Yeah . . . she does that._

The angel nods, then his metallic eyes settle on Sam. "What do you think, Mr. Winchester? What is it that went so wrong here?"

Sam swallows, and he feels Dean's eyes come to rest on his face. He's too afraid to turn his head a single degree in his direction, fearing the possibility of a look of rage, of resentment. Hatred.

But, taking him by surprise, Dean places a hand on Sam's shoulder. His grip is not harsh, but reassuring, steadying Sam's swaying resolve. The gesture is just so Dean-like that he internally chokes on the guilt.

_God, how did things get so fucked up?_

"It's hard to say," he hears his hoarse voice force out.

 _No it's not. Just say it_.

He feels his mouth struggle to refrain from grimacing. "Elena and I had lost contact right before everything went down. I had no way of knowing what was going on with them."

The angel makes a face of skepticism before sliding his attention back to Elena. "Well then," he says. "Why don't you go over the events following the removal of the bullets again? There must be something we missed."

_Please don't._

_It hurts too much._

He considers bolting like he did yesterday but, without looking at her, Sam can already see that same pain on Elena's face as she exhales shakily.

No. He can't leave her again.

Dean's other hand moves to cover hers. The chains around his wrists rattle as he twines their fingers together, perching atop his knee. For a second as Sam looks down at them he almost feels it. The memory of Elena's hand in his. But the rings shines, reminding him that the hand isn't his.

_I hate you._

Her voice is clear as she begins with an uneasy breath, "I guess the chaos started when Sam finally called me back."

* * *

 

**Jacksonville, Florida**   
**Eighteen Months Ago**

**___**

When she was shot, the first face she'd seen was Sam's. His features had burned behind her eyelids as her fingers tangled into Dean's shirt, a shout wrenching from her throat.

And for a fleeting second, between the blurry pain and shock to her nerves, Elena thought Sam had shot her. Twice.

Then she'd crash-landed back to reality in a bloody mess with Dean's hands gripping her, holding her to him with a fierce protectiveness that had startled her.

But even now as she sits slumped in their overly luxurious hotel room Elena feels Sam poking at her back. Despite the relief she feels sinking into the plush sofa - despite the fact that she had killed her shooter with her own hands - she can't shake his eyes from her memory. The look of cold, deranged determination he had when he told her to shut off her humanity.

She stares absently at Dean, who snores soundly on the bed as if he hadn't just been kidnapped, tortured, and shot at. A small, half-laugh escapes her. There he is peacefully asleep when she can barely bring herself to shut her eyes.

Elena isn't sure how long she'd been staring at him. All she knows is that morning had already come when her phone rings.

"Elena?"

The sound of Sam's voice makes her body harden like solid steel. Her fingers feel frozen, stuck curled over the phone. She doesn't realize that she'd clamped her mouth shut until he speaks again.

"Elena? Are you th-"

The blood comes rushing back to her fingers. "Where have you been? I called you ten times and I left messages-"

"Yeah, I got them."

"You got them?" she echoes blandly. There is a strained pause and Elena can almost hear the tension tightening across the air waves. She breaks it. "Tell me where you are so I can come over there and kick your useless ass-"

"Are you guys okay?" he asks, pushing back. "Where are you?"

Her jaw locks. It takes her a second to respond, saying, "Yes, we're fine. Dean's . . . okay. We're at a hotel just outside of Jacksonville."

"Good. Don't go anywhere."

She shifts the phone to her other ear, wincing as the sore spots on her back flare in pain. She tries to recall the last time she had fresh blood.

"Not a good idea. Crowley's not messing around so we need to keep moving." The image of the demon's car parked directly in front of their last motel room remains stamped into her brain and she cringes, "Rowena cloaked us. The only way he could have found us is if someone told him exactly where we were. Do you have any idea who that could've been?"

"How would I know?" he says gruffly. "If I had to guess I'd say Rowena sold us out."

Elena's eyebrows lower. "No. That doesn't seem right, she wanted to help us."

He sighs, the air harsh and abrupt against the speaker, causing a pain to shoot through her temple. "Do I need to teach you the concepts of lying and manipulation?"

"Thanks, but no, even though I know you're an expert on the subject."

"Elena," he says, strained. "Now's not the time to argue-"

"Look, Sam. I just know, okay? I saw her face. Rowena genuinely wanted her son knocked down a peg."

"Feelings can change."

"Yes, I know," she says coldly, "You don't need to explain feelings to me."

Elena can almost hear the instant recoil in his voice. "Okay, okay, fine. If not Rowena then who?"

Elena doesn't reply. An odd sensation of awkwardness falls on them as her blame floats toward the only other possible guilty party.

"You know what, we'll talk about this later," he says, stopping it from reaching him. "Just stay put. I'll meet you guys down there."

_Down?_

There's that sensation again. "Sam, where are you?"

He laughs then, as if she'd just accused him of abandoning hunting for a modeling career. "Miami. I was trying to give you guys some space."

Now it's her turn to pause. She wishes he were in front of her so she could search his face for the reason his voice sounds so wrong, so different from how she remembers it. She wishes she could just say what her former self would have just blurted out in a blind heat.

_Why did you have to leave?_

_Why can't you stop lying?_

_Why do you keep trying to hurt me?_

But instead what comes out is a flat, "We didn't need that much space, Sam."

He huffs, the beginnings of raw anger sharpening the noise.

"What do you want, Elena, my coordinates?" When she doesn't answer he lets out another rough exhale and reiterates, "Just stay. I'll be there by tonight."

The line disconnects with a click.

* * *

"So . . . where are we going?"

She keeps her eyes on the road ahead, replying, "Don't know yet."

Elena can see Dean's bemused expression without even looking at him. By now their embrace had become a distant memory, fading, though the warm pangs left from their tangled arms still assault them every now and again. Particularly when gazes linger on one another for just a split second too long.

Nevertheless, they'd both silently agreed not to talk about the fact that, for some inexplicable reason, Dean chose to stay with her. And for reasons equally as ambiguous, Elena hasn't yet filleted Dean alive for witnessing her moment of extreme vulnerability.

If anything, they're determined to go back to their easy, simple way of being together before shit and fan met and one of them had kidnapped the other. Or at least that's what she thought they'd agreed.

_If only he'd stop looking at me that way._

She grips the steering wheel harder, feeling his eyes on her like a knife scraping up and down, peeling away her skin until her insides are completely exposed. Like those apples they sliced together. It feels like so long ago now.

"You talked to Sam?" he asks steadily, oblivious to her internal squirm. She can still feel his hand print searing into her back from when he had extracted those bullets.

"Yes."

He nods. "Hm."

She chances a glance in his direction, finding him seated comfortably in the passenger seat with a finger tapping against the armrest and hair sticking up from the time she'd pulled him by it.

But despite his carefree appearance she spots just a flicker of darkness in his eyes as the car shudders beneath them. A swell of anger that disappears into him almost immediately. It takes a heavy second but instead of making the comment she knows he's thinking, he makes a suggestion. "Music?"

He reaches across to turn on the radio, brushing her elbow in the process.

_I love you._

Elena flinches violently, much too violently for her to smooth it over with a stretch or a cough. Dean retracts his hand swiftly, his stricken face looking as if he'd taken a risk and ultimately lost this particular game of Operation.

Before the quiet has the chance to fester, he says, "Okay Elena, we need to talk."

She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"Oh please," he says with a smirk. "I am not gonna pretend that I didn't just see that."

"What? I didn't-"

"You nearly jumped out the window to avoid touching me."

Elena rolls her eyes, "Don't be dramatic."

"I mean, I completely understand," he says. Elena raises an eyebrow and he looks at her gravely. "I have a magnetism that most people can't resist and you know what? You don't need to be ashamed of it because everyone gets a crush once in a while-"

She makes a sharp sound of disbelief. "Why is it that you think every girl has a crush on you?"

"I don't."

"No? Remember when we went on that ice run for the bar?"

"Right, and I paid for it because I'm a gentleman."

Elena waves it off. "Whatever. But do you remember what you said about the cashier afterwards? You were convinced that she was in love with you because she gave you more change than you were supposed to get."

He smiles. "I don't remember that at all."

"What? You wouldn't shut up about it," she stops short at the crooked grin on his face and the handsome glint in his eyes. "Stop smiling-"

He puts his hands up, "Look, all I remember about that day was you making a big fuss because I tried to carry all the ice myself and you ended up carrying it."

"I know," she says, tone clipped. "I didn't want you to have the satisfaction of impressing that sweet girl with your so-called manliness."

"So-called?" he guffaws. "Wow, I must've really annoyed you that day."

She keeps her attention on the road. "You have a way of doing that."

"Well, for your information," he says with a minor note of hesitation. "I wasn't trying to impress _her_."

She absorbs his inflection and frowns. Momentarily dumbfounded, Elena opens her mouth only to find that she has no sarcastic response ready. Dean, utterly amused by this, lets out a hearty chuckle, grinning at her so happily that she's both transfixed and irritated by its brightness. The sound makes a gentle landing in her chest, causing the butterfly inside her to twitch.

 _He's playing you_ , a voice in the corner of her mind sings. _Just like his brother did and still is. He'll get what he wants from you and split the first chance he gets._

_But what does he want?_

She meets his gaze again with caution and is greeted by the brilliant green of Dean's annoyingly perceptive eyes. The small flash in them tells her clearly what his mouth had not: It doesn't matter what methods of aversion had worked with Sam. He definitely is not Sam. And he would not, under any circumstances, allow her to crawl back into her cold cave. At least not without him.

The small smile on her lips fades and she clears her throat. "We're probably not going to stop for a while so you should get some sleep."

His eyes flit across her face again, seeing too much.

_I swear if he doesn't stop that right now-_

"If you say so," he says with confidence, as if her suspicions were written in bold print on her forehead. The dirty smirk promising a continuation of this conversation later never leaves his face when he says, "Don't worry. I trust you."

The butterfly smashes into a wall in her gut. It flutters feebly before falling back into its cage. As he drifts to sleep Elena makes sure that she doesn't believe him.

* * *

By the time he wakes they'd already crossed the border into Georgia. The heat had persisted, making each inhale unbearably thick and muggy. Before long, sweat layers onto their skin. The hot air suffocates them. Dean fiddles with the faulty air conditioning to no success, leaving them alone together in the sweltering discomfort.

After a few muttered comments from both of them about the weather, they sit in silence as the car ambles down the open road. The silence only makes it ridiculously apparent when Elena avoids his sidelong glances and his way of smiling at her. She becomes much too aware of each time Dean shifts his position. Of the careful, conscious way that he moves around her. Of the sound of his breathing.

When it becomes intolerable, Dean clears his throat, tries making small talk, rattling on about the last movie he'd seen - some revenge flick. When he tires of that he moves on to music, listing his favorite records in descending order.

After an extensive period of her grunts and one-word replies, she finally hears him sigh and slump into his seat. Elena lets out a soundless breath, glad that he'd finally given up. She doesn't know how long she could've kept up the cold shoulder. She hopes that he'll catch the hint soon enough and let whatever their relationship had developed into deteriorate. She hopes he realizes that she's only trying to save them both.

* * *

It's late afternoon when they eventually do stop for food. But, through an extreme amount of effort on Elena's part, they eat neither at the same time nor in the same location.

After pulling into a small, fairly deserted strip mall, Elena tosses him his wallet, which she had been holding onto for the last few days, and tells him to buy himself some food and supplies for camping.

"Camping?" he repeats with a little twitch at the corner if his mouth. "That's smart. It'll be almost impossible to track us-"

But Elena's already moving in the opposite direction, walking quickly. She ignores the distinct feeling of his eyes on her back. Part of her can feel the smallest twinge of hurt in them.

She shakes it off, heading into the small thrift shop down the street.

. . .

Her hands grip four bags as she makes her way back to the car. Dean is already waiting, leaning against the side with several bags of supplies sitting on the ground and bringing attention to the fact that she hadn't trusted him enough with the keys.

"Did you eat?" she asks shortly, transferring all the bags to one hand to free her other one for the keys. Her gaze skirts around him swiftly before returning to the trunk door.

Dean studies her carefully, his jaw working, then says, "Yeah. They sell hot dogs over at that Quik-Mart."

Elena nods once in approval and pops open the trunk. Together, they load it with their purchases. She's careful not to touch him but the same cannot be said for him, who seems to take to the idea of seizing bags from her hands to place into the trunk even if she'd never asked for such assistance.

His fingers graze hers and a raging bolt of electricity shoots through her body and collects in her gut. Elena jumps and releases the bag, sending its contents clattering to the ground.

There is a beat.

Dean straightens and his stare falls on her hard.

She pulls in a breath. The tense silence extends.

An unidentifiable expression flashes across his face as he shakes his head at her. He bends one knee to the ground to pick up the items. Elena gets the heavy feeling that she'd hurt him again and she doesn't know why it bothers her so much.

Her eyes close. Sam's words pound through her ears.  _You have no heart._

"I got you clothes," she says, opening her eyes and nearly cringing at how desperate it sounds.

He looks up from his crouched position. The light from the parking lot lamp hits him just right, revealing the constellation of freckles across his face. "What?"

She huffs. Of course he's going to make her repeat it.

"I got you clothes. You know, just jeans and a t-shirt. A sweater." She gestures to the bags already packed into the car.

He stares up at her, their eyes meet fully for the first time since yesterday.

"Thanks." He doesn't smile knowingly this time, seeming to understand that isn't what she needs from him. He just lets her search him. "I got you some pillows."

He collects the fallen items and stands, rising back to full height so that she has to tilt her head up to look at him. She folds her arms around herself. "Thanks."

The air clenches. Dean is motionless, noticing her defensive posture. He takes a much needed breath.

"I got blankets too," he adds as he deliberately steps back, releasing the air that Elena hadn't realized they'd been holding together. He lets the space exhale around her, open and free. "So you don't get cold at night."

Elena nods. She hadn't expected anything beyond water bottles and sleeping bags. But one look at the trunk tells her he'd taken great care to ensure her comfort. The dead thing in her chest performs a small thump.

"So we heading out or what?" he asks. He's feet away from her now but the space between them feels like an embrace.

She ignores the butterfly again and nods. "Right."

So together, they get into the car and roll back out onto the long road of uncertainty. It isn't until later that Elena remembers that it wasn't electricity that she'd felt when their hands had touched.

. . .

Dean watches her eat. Or drink, rather.

There is no disgust. No judgement. Not even morbid fascination. He just . . . watches her. Like she's snacking on an apple instead of a human being that they'd run into hiking. He was even silent as he helped her drag the body back to camp. It isn't until her eyelids start to feel heavy that he actually approaches her.

He stops precisely two feet in front of her, likely a note he'd taken from his previous rejections, and says, "Go to sleep, Elena. You're exhausted."

The fire crackles, spitting hot sparks into the night air. The warmth curls around her, and her eyelids drop slightly. "Don't tell me what to do."

Dean chuckles, "Just a suggestion." Her scowl in response only makes him laugh harder. "Elena, if you don't sleep now you'll pass out somewhere later and I'll be tempted to draw on your face to punish you for being so damn stubborn."

Elena groans and shoves away her finished victim. Flopping onto the grass, she lets out a sigh. "Stop saying my name like that."

He pushes the limp body aside and sits in its place. Near her, but not touching. "I'm not saying your name like anything."

She glares at him, "Yeah? Tell that to my ears."

"Have I not been doing that?"

"Ugh, just - just shut up," she says, rubbing her eyes.

"Fine," Dean says, lying down and stretching out next to her. "But you haven't slept in days so you should really rest . . . Elena."

She yawns. "Next time you say my name I'm strangling you."

"I look forward to it, sweetheart."

A soft smile inches across his lips as her eyelids fall closed despite herself. Even in the darkness he sees the blood staining her mouth. Before he can stop himself he reaches out and just barely grazes his thumb to her lips. But she's already in deep sleep. Her breaths ease in and out, unaware of the red he'd wiped away.

. . .

Her dead sleep is cut short by her phone's whining. After scrambling around camp for the device and finally finding it on the front seat of the car, Elena frowns at the name her caller ID flashes up at her. She answers hoarsely, "What?"

" _Where the hell are you, Elena? I fucking told you to stay at the hotel-_ "

His voice is loud and cutting against the comfortable silence that had previously surrounded her and she winces. "Yeah, and I told you that it wasn't safe."

Sam mutters to himself and Elena can hear him kick something over on his end. " _Well, you could have at least had the decency to tell me where you were going._ "

"Really, Sam? You want to talk about decency?"

" _Shit_ ," he hisses. She hears violent shuffling. " _Elena, why do I still smell sulfur in this hotel room?_ "

"Because Dean didn't finish his transition. I thought you got my messages-"

" _Are you kidding? You told me Dean was okay!_ "

"Yeah, and you told me that you got my messages. I meant okay as in he isn't dead."

" _Elena, you had one last job to do and couldn't even finish it._ " The growl in his throat wrings his words, the sound tight and contorting. She tries to remember if he'd always sounded like that." _Damn it Elena, I can't believe this. Now how am I supposed to-_ "

"We were ambushed by demons, what the hell did you want me to do? Ask them if they could politely wait 'til we were finished?"

" _I wanted you to put Dean's humanity first_."

"I put his life first."

" _They wouldn't have killed him_."

Elena gives him a sharp scoff. "I wish there was some way for you to understand how much of an idiot you're being."

She hears him grumble a few crude remarks before snapping, " _Listen, are you going to tell me where you are or not? What the hell is going on, Elena? You're icing me out_."

Even though she knows he can't see her she shakes her head, "I don't trust you right now."

There is a silence. The kind that stiffens the longer it sits.

Sam rakes in a deep breath.

" _I'm sorry that you think that_ ," he says, making a clear effort to soften his voice. " _But you have to. I just can't lose my brother again. Please, Elena._ "

Her body feels numb. The wilderness surrounding her seems to be calling out, warning her not to get sucked into the warmth of his words. "I don't know. Let me think."

But he invades her mind again, saying, " _I understand. Please, just_ -" he struggles to get his next words out. " _Once this is all over I'll leave you alone for the rest of your life, I promise. Just please, tell me where you are. You can trust me._ "

His pleads pick at her, feeling like mere wisps to the ghostly void in her chest cavity, to the pain of the bullets that were in her back and the bitterness they left behind.

"I will," she replies, "but only if you do what you promised me. Get Crowley off of my back, then come talk to me about trust."

" _What? Elena, I-_ "

This time she hangs up on him, smashing her finger against the end call button.

Quiet falls on her again, though the echoes of Sam's voice still reverberate through her. She lies back down in the spot she'd been sleeping in, foolishly hoping that some warmth would be left.

She stares up at the starry black sky and sighs. "How long were you listening?"

Dean takes a breath from across the fire pit and rolls over to face her. "Something about Sam being an idiot, I think."

She nods, avoiding his stare. "Nothing new, then."

The quiet returns. Everything in her emotionless body is telling her to look him in the eye and face her demon. To let him see what he's so hell bent on seeing in her.

But that's what got her shot in the first place. How many times does she need to be burned before some part of her will realize that she's doing this to herself? That every time she's been hurt by someone is because she'd let them.

And I fell asleep. I must be an even bigger idiot than I thought.

Dean breaks the silence. "You're right, you know." She doesn't reply, allowing him a little more room. He takes it, saying, "He's an idiot if he treats you like this."

"Good night, Dean."

He smiles at her, warm and direct. "Yeah, okay."

But she doesn't need to see his face to see that he knows just how full of shit she is. There's nothing she can do to stop the tightrope from forming beneath her feet, and the feeling that the only thing keeping her steady as she walks across is him. The thought stops any sense of relaxation from returning to her. So she lies awake, staring at the overwhelming stretch of sky above her for the rest of the night.

* * *

They drive for the next three days, stopping to make camp each night. They'd developed a system of ditching cars, hitchhiking, and stealing new cars each time they start to feel too comfortable. Food is either fished for or bought with cash at seedy truck stops with lax security.

Over this time they'd also developed a rather ineffective system of communication that involves Elena holding Dean at arm's length while he continues taking one step closer when she isn't looking. The bastard got surprisingly good at that. Unfortunately for Elena, he was making it much harder to maintain boundaries. Harder to keep her resolve.

"We need showers," she says finally after hours of driving with the unbearable stench trapped in the car. She's at the wheel today and her nose is burning from dirt, ash, and unwashed skin baking in the car's heat.

"What?" Dean lifts his arms to give his underarm a good sniff. "No, I have at least two more days before it gets really bad-"

"Dean, I have to share a car with you. You're taking a bath."

He rolls his eyes as she steers them down a rocky lane until a creek comes into view. Elena ignores his grumbles, cutting the engine and rifling through her bag for the towel Dean had bought her.

"I'll go first," she says.

"What am I supposed to do, just wait in here?" he asks distastefully.

She scoffs, yanking the towel out like a rabbit from a hat. "That's not gonna work this time. I'm not taking you with me."

Dean smirks. "A man's gotta try."

"But you're going to bathe whether you want to or not."

"Not gonna happen."

The glower she gives him is enough to move most to tears. But Dean, accustomed to such looks from her at this point in their travels, merely smiles with eyes that say: I dare you to make me.

They stare in silence for several moments. She knows what he's doing. All he wants is to ruffle her.

"If I pin you for three seconds will you do it?" she propositions with a lift of her chin.

His eyebrows shoot up. "Oh, sweetheart. You're this close to embarrassing yourself-"

Elena snaps across the car like a whip and impressively, undoes his seatbelt without him feeling it. He only realizes he's free when Elena pops his door open, sending him tumbling out onto the rocky ground.

He grunts at the impact. But the pain is nothing compared to her colliding with him with the full force of gravity on her side. Her little hands grip his shoulders and shove them to the ground.

"You little cheater," he says through his teeth.

"One, two, thr-EEEEK!"

She's thrown off and sent rolling feet away from him. He leaps to his feet and makes a beeline back to the car. He's stopped quickly when her hand wraps around his ankle and lands his back on the ground. She clamors over him to pin him, each of her hands on his shoulders. Her legs bracket his roughly and he grunts at the force.

He's half in the water, which reaches out its cool fingers into his clothes, spreading and touching every inch of him. Elena's eyes lock on his and they freeze, panting.

"One . . ." she says softly, but Dean's not fighting anymore.

"Two . . ." her voice shakes.

He stares up at her. "Three."

The sun warms them from above while the water sloshes and slaps around them. Birds chirp at a leisurely pace, content in their simple existence.

The two of them remain still and everything falls away.

Elena lifts her hand from his shoulder to run it across his stubbled jaw. Dean exhales, and Elena sees his Adam's apple shift. Her fingers run through his hair then, helping the lake water to sift into the locks. Dirt and grime flow away from both of them in dark streams.

"You need to shave," she says. Droplets from her hair fall onto his face.

He smiles, raising a hand to lightly touch her stomach. "Do what you want with me."

. . .

When she opens her eyes there are arms around her. Grass pricks at her exposed skin and deep breaths warm the back of her neck. A stubbled jaw nestles comfortably into the soft nook.

Her eyes widen and she leaps to her feet, shoving the warm arms away from her. Her heartbeat thunders against her rib cage. Her companion, now fully awake from the force with which she had pushed him, blinks up at her in confusion.

It takes Elena a second. It seems to stretch, but she eventually comes to her senses, recognizing the man as Dean. His features click into place and relief loosens her stiffened muscles. It's a relief that she never thought she'd feel because of him.

His green stare is on her, a deep comprehension shining through them now. He smiles softly. "It's okay. He's not here."

Elena eases out a breath, trying to compose herself. "Who?"

A tough blend of sadness and frustration leaks through the cracks in his reply, "Whoever you thought I was."

She searches his face for any sign of coldness, for an excuse for her to be cruel to him so she can hide behind it. But she finds none. In fact, what she does see only makes her more restless.

"We have to start moving," she says, breaking their heated stare and heading to the car. She doesn't bother brushing off the stray leaves and blades of grass that had taken hold of her in the night, letting them drag violently in the wind until they finally fall.

Dean gets to his feet, sighing. "Where?"

She doesn't meet his eyes. "Don't know yet."

There is a pause loud enough for her to hear every question he's thinking at her. Every question she can't answer. And Dean just watches her, not moving from his spot as she pops open the driver side door.

_Well shit._

She swivels to face him. "You coming?"

He shrugs. "I don't know, Elena. Why should I?"

_Because I need you as leverage._

_Because you're the only reason Sam is listening to me._

_Because only you get me_.

She huffs, frustration building its pressure in her chest. "Well, you came with me all this way, Dean, what's stopping you now?"

His gaze lingers on her face for a moment before turning out into the woods. The morning light begins to dawn through the trees, washing the wide space in pale yellow. His rumpled shirt flutters as a light breeze tugs at it. "I came because I thought we were running to something, not away from someone."

"Dean, we're being chased by demons. What was I supposed to-"

He puts a hand up. "I'm not talking about Crowley."

She clamps her mouth shut. His face echoes the one she'd seen several times before, dark with anger bubbling against his skin. It's a violent hunger that only appears when they weren't alone. When they're at a gas station and someone shoves past them. When he watches her drink from a live person's neck. When the ghost of his brother follows them no matter how far they run.

He swallows, the muscle in his jaw shifting. "You know, whenever you shared something with me I've had to wonder whether or not it's the truth."

She sighs, "Dean, I was just trying to help you-"

"Let me finish," he says severely, the green of his eyes intensifying. "All I'm saying is that you're doing the exact same thing."

Elena stares at him as a deep, unsettling sense of violated privacy turns her stomach.

"Someone hurt you," Dean continues with startling clarity. "And now you're fighting everyone within reach not to get hurt again."

She raises an eyebrow at him, trying not to waver. "I don't get hurt."

"I'm sure," Dean says with a half-smile. "But people will still hurt you whether you feel it or not, Elena."

Elena's fingers curl around the door handle. For a minute she thinks about denying it, telling him that he knows nothing about her. But that would just be a flat out lie. He's been reading her like a damn book from the second they met.

She slams the door shut. "Stop saying my name like that."

He exhales a laugh. "I'm not saying it like anything."

"Do you think he did it?" she asks quietly.

Dean takes a small step forward and stops. His expression is so soft that she almost forgets the demon he is.

"Did what?" he asks.

She lets out a shaking breath, feeling extremely exposed, then finally asks what she's been asking herself every minute since they left that damned motel. "Do you think that Sam made a deal to trade me for you? That those demons found us because Sam told them where we were?"

Dean mouth sets in a grim line, eyebrows lowering. It's then that Elena realizes that his relationship with his brother, stretched thin enough as it is, now has the added complication of her being tangled between them.

"No," he decides. "He's done some bad things for my sake but I don't think he'd put you at risk. Not like that."

Elena shakes her head. "You can't know that for sure."

Dean smiles. "Of course I can."

She frowns. "How?"

His stiff smile grows as he moves around her to open the driver's door. "I just know."

* * *

They don't need more than one machine to wash all of their clothes, towels and blankets combined. Dean had stuffed all of it in and forced the door shut, determined not to sacrifice any more quarters - and time - than necessary. Today the off-white interior of the laundromat is completely empty aside from the two of them.

Elena perches atop a washing machine, kicking out her legs and letting them fall back to the machine wall with a hollow thump. Dean leans against the one next to her, arms crossed and eyes unfocused. They're silent as the sound of water splashing fills the wide open room.

It's been six weeks of running. Almost long enough for them to pretend that they're happy. That they're just on a long road trip that's only dangerous if they slowed down.

The pretending part comes easily enough to Elena, who by now had grown used to the masks she had to flip between in order to survive. But for Dean, it had become unbearable. She can see it on his face every time they find themselves in public. She can see it in the downturn of his mouth and the twitching of his fingers.

She'd made a conscious attempt to alleviate the burn of the mark on his arm by shielding him from temptation. Like washing their clothes at this time of night, for example.

But even she can't control the forces of the world.

The bell over the door clangs as a man stomps in, boots clapping against the tile. Without looking at the intruder, Elena's eyes move to Dean, whose gaze snaps to the front of the laundromat with a sharpness that wasn't there a minute ago. She can almost hear the hungry rush of blood through his veins.

And for a while, that's the worst of it. The man keeps his distance. That is, until Elena goes to the car to check her voice mail. Sam had called and left a message, as he'd done every day since they last spoke. 

When she heads back into the laundromat Dean is gone. Elena's heart skips a beat. She runs up and down the aisles, all the while thinking why? Why did he choose today to finally ditch her? Did she overestimate how he felt about her? Was she blinded by his freckles and half-smile?

Just as she's about to drive herself even more insane, she smells it. Blood.

She finds Dean in the final aisle, straddling the man who had an article of clothing wrapped around his neck. Dean holds the two ends, keeping it tight against his throat. With one rough tug the man is gasping, face contorted and red. Legs and arms thrash about. The smell of blood comes from the man's arms, which had likely been slashed with the knife that had slid toward's Elena's feet. Red streaks the white floors and the walls of machines.

"Dean," Elena tries to get his attention.

Dean doesn't respond. Pitch black nearly covers the entire surface of his eyes. He pulls harder against the cloth and Elena can see the tight fabric shake with the tension, causing the man's eyes to roll back.

"Dean."

His eyes flick up to her finally. As they sink into her, actually seeing, she feels a sense of relief. 

"What?" he asks, tone unnervingly low.

She gives him a hard frown. "You're wrinkling my dress."

He glances down at the soft material, twisted and digging into the man's throat. He looks back at her with a smug smile. "This is the one from the store that I said was nice."

She rolls her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, can you let it go? You'll get blood on it."

"Yeah, just a sec." He pulls and the man is seconds from dead.

"Dean, stop," Elena says more forcefully. "You can't kill him."

He rolls his eyes. It's a sick imitation of the man's current expression. "Don't tell me that you've gone soft."

She scoffs, "Please. I just don't want our work to go to waste. We can't leave a trail of bodies leading to us. That's why I never kill the people I feed on."

She sees the muscle in his arms strain as they go still. His eyes lock onto hers, considering her words. "Not even one?"

"Not even one."

A breath of frustration escapes him. For a moment she thinks that she sees understanding in his eyes. But just as quickly, a darkness envelops his face and snap. With one swift twist, the man's body goes slack.

It isn't long after that they get caught. And by then it's clear that they'd been fooling themselves. They'd been running for too long. As the demons close in on them they both know that it had only been a matter of time before Crowley ----------

**___Little Heaven, Delaware___**   
**Present**   
**____**

"Wait."

Two sets of eyes turn on Sam at the interruption, Dean's with a sharply raised brow and Elena with poorly contained fear. Sam's mouth goes dry and his stare sticks to the ground.

"Yes?" the angel asks. Behind him Sam senses Zadkiel shift nervously.

Sam's breath shakes. "Could we stop for a minute?"

The angel purses his lips, a stern look of disbelief suggesting that he would rather not. "This has gone on long enough, Mr. Winchester. We need to come to a decision."

"I understand," Sam says, swallowing. "But please . . . I just need a moment . . . before we go on."

\- -

The three of them are released into an empty, windowless room, the walls the same signature white. As soon as the door shuts behind them, Sam buries his face in his hands. Still he can feel Elena's grave eyes on him, ready to interrogate, but Dean beats her to it.

"What the hell are you doing, man?" Dean demands, taking long and quick strides across the room to face him. "We're so close to putting an end to this-"

"No." Sam releases his face and runs his hands through his hair. "I can't let you guys do this."

"Well, it isn't up to you, Sam," Elena says. "Just get out there and go with the story. Hell, you don't even need to say anything. Just do what you've been doing and we're home free."

"No, Elena, we're not and you know it." He meets Dean's resigned eyes and knows that he knows it too. "I saw their faces, they're ready to burn you two alive. I mean, look at you Dean, you're in handcuffs and shackles."

He shakes his head. "This is what I signed up for, Sammy. I did this to myself so this is on me. If they don't care about the Mark, then we'll just have to accept that."

In the corner of his eyes he sees Elena frown in disagreement, jaw tight. Dean throws a sharp glance her way as if this was an argument they'd already had between them a thousand times before. It's also one that Elena clearly has lost, seeing as their narrative places most of the blame on Dean being under the influence of The Mark of Cain. 

"Look, I'm not asking for permission," Sam says, looking at each of them. "I'm telling them the whole truth. Technically, neither of you have lied about anything except what happened at the laundromat, so you won't go down with me."

"It's not about that, Sam," Dean presses on. "You're talking about leaving us, about asking to be punished for a mistake you made a long time ago-"

Sam flinches. Out of the corner of his eye he notices Elena responds with equal discomfort, coughing once and avoiding eye contact.

With his voice packed tightly in his throat, he says, "It was a mistake that hurt a lot of people, Dean."

Dean and Elena share a meaningful look in a private language that Sam had long since excluded himself from. Dean takes a breath and steps closer to her. "I know. But you can't just-"

"This isn't up to you. I know you're only defending me because you feel bad for what you said to me, but I deserved it, Dean. I deserved it."

"Sam, stop," Elena says, clearly on edge as she senses the direction of his speech. "Are you kidding me? You want to talk about who deserves what? There's no use in pointing fingers, Sam. All it does is make everyone run in circles. There has to be a way to get all of us through this."

He can't avoid looking at her this time. His gaze hits her. A clasp snapping in place. An overwhelming swell of pain envelops his chest. Sam swallows, then nods at her hand. "How long?"

The air in the room shifts immediately. Dean's face flushes and Elena's expression morphs into one of defensiveness, arms crossing over her chest.

"Two months."

Sam nods, a soft smile on his lips. "Two months." He turns to Dean, "I'm guessing that when you proposed you didn't plan on either of you going to hell for the honeymoon?"

Dean meets his eyes and for the first time Sam catches a glimpse of pure fear in them before they harden in determination. "No one's going to hell."

"Wake up, Dean," Sam says, voice rising. "You're delusional if you really believe all three of us are getting out of this."

"I'm a coward if I don't at least try to get all three of us out of this," Dean says through his teeth.

"No, dumb is what you are." Sam barks out a hysterical laugh. "Just plain stupid. All your heroics are gonna do is drag both you and your fiance down for a very, very long slumber party with Lucifer-"

"Sam," Elena places a hesitant hand on his shoulder, "I think we should-"

Sam slaps her hand away with such force that the next thing he knows is Dean shoving him backward in a red rage. Sam stumbles back and Dean's livid eyes force unpleasant memories to resurface. The smell of bleach. Tears. Shouting. Limp legs dragging against tiled floor. I . . . hate . . . y---

"Haven't you hurt her enough?" he demands.

"Dean, it's fine. He's just trying to make us turn on him," Elena says, face flushed with contained anger. She turns to Sam. "Stop trying so hard to be the monster."

Dean backs away from him, remorseful as Sam lets out a laugh, "This is exactly what I mean." He meets Dean's eyes and says, "Answer one question and we'll settle this."

Dean purses his lips. When he doesn't say anything, Sam smiles bitterly. "Do you trust me?"

Dean shuts his eyes and sighs. "I forgave you a long time ago, Sammy-"

"That wasn't what I asked."

"Well, I-"

"Do you trust me?" he demands. As if to hammer the point in further he points a finger at Elena. "Do you trust me not to hurt her?"

No reply.

Sam nods, the weight of this decision settling heavily in his chest. This is it. This is what he's known he needed to do since the beginning. "I'm telling them the truth and you can't stop me."

He musters up all of his courage and strength to turn and storm toward the door. His blood runs cold and anticipation pulls sweat from his skin. His own breathing sounds too loud as he approaches the door.

"Sam wait," Elena says, voice much stronger than he feels. She catches his arm and tugs him back.

When he looks at her and Dean, their eyes are softer. Sadder.

"We'll tell the truth," Elena says, giving his arm a squeeze before letting him go. He feels a sharp sting in his heart. Anger still radiates off of Dean, but determination joins it. Elena forces Sam's gaze back to her, saying, "We're doing it together."

* * *

**Eighteen months ago**

**___**

"I'm going to answer it," Dean says, breaking the staring contest between Elena and the cell phone. He reaches for it but she twists away from him to block his hand, causing him to accidentally grab at her side-boob.

"What? No, we can't." Elena smacks his hand and drops the phone into her bag. The ringing stops. They're sitting in the parking lot outside of the laundromat with both of their dirty clothes piled into a plastic bag. They were about to go inside when Sam's call had interrupted them.

"You have to eventually."

She glares at him, eyes fierce. "We don't owe him anything."

"Yes, but you owe it to yourself to end this." He looks at her with a gravity that was becoming more and more frequent these days. Less often does she see the demon in him and more often does she catch glimpses of the man he used to be. He smirks, then says, "As much as I like you saying 'we', I think this is more of a you thing."

She shoves his arm, snatches the laundry from his grasp, and gets out of the car. He laughs and follows close behind until they reach the building. He hurries ahead and opens the door for her.

She allows him a small smile. "Always the gentleman."

When they get to a machine, Dean takes the bag from her to dump their clothes in as Elena counts out quarters. Their underwear, socks, and shirts tumble in together, and the sight makes Dean smile. He can still see the blood stain from Elena's last meal on the collar of the "I am Elena" tee he'd made from one of her old shirts a few days ago. It goes with his "If Lost Return to Elena" shirt that he'd also made. He'd had a lot of time on his hands.

"I say heavy duty wash," Elena suggests.

Dean smirks. "Okay, but what about this flimsy thing?" He plucks a deep red bra from the pile and waves it around. "I don't think it can handle rough play."

She yanks it from him, much to his amusement, and throws it back in. "Doesn't matter. I just want it clean."

They're battling over the buttons when they hear the faint sound of her phone ringing from inside her purse. They freeze and there is a crackle of electricity just before Dean swipes her bag.

"Dean!"

But he reaches in for her phone. The bag slaps to the floor as he clicks the answer button and Elena quiets.

"Elena? Hello?"

Elena looks at Dean who, to his credit, isn't laughing at her anymore. His eyes are on her, searching her face for traces of emotion that he already knows he won't find. But he looks anyway because, even if it's just a shade of her that's in front of him, it's still her. Dean had pieced together enough of her story to understand her limitations. But he thinks of her lack of humanity as a mere obstacle. A thin wall of paper just waiting for him to tear through. He plans to get her back, no matter how long it takes.

He holds out the phone now, and he sees the coldness fluctuate behind her eyes. She licks her lips. Nervous? No. Uncertain.

Never taking her eyes off of him, she takes the phone. Their fingers brush, and Dean fights the urge to grab hold of her hand. To press their hands together and keep her cold fingers warm.

She takes in a slow breath and answers. "Sam?"

. . .

Her voice nearly cuts his heart in half and his head goes momentarily blank, as if his name on her lips is enough to wash away everything that clutters his mind. He'd forgotten how rich and gravelly her voice is. How it buries itself in his ears.

"Hi," Sam says lamely.

After a pause, she says, "You've been calling me?"

"Right." He clears his throat. "Is Dean okay?"

She surprises him with a short laugh. "I don't know. Dean, are you okay?" In the background, Sam hears Dean's muffled voice reply with what sounds like false enthusiasm and a quip that makes Elena laugh.

Annoyance flares, but he quickly tempers it, saying, "Good. I've been worried."

"What have you been doing?" she asks.

Good question. "Worrying about you two. The usual."

He hears her inhale softly, "We're fine. We're moving quickly, staying off Crowley's radar."

And mine, he wants to say. But instead he repeats himself. "Good."

After an uncomfortable pause, Elena sighs, "Well, now you know we're okay. So-"

"Right," Sam says. He swallows and a burning ignites in his chest. He wants to scream. To throw the phone. To flip back in time and erase everything. But most of all he wants to tell her how sorry he is. How he hates himself. How he'd never meant to hurt her. But none of that will do any good and it's far too late for apologies. So all he says is, "Goodbye, Elena."

He senses her relief as she says, "Goodbye, Sam."

The call ends and he feels numb. He leaves the phone on the table in front of him before shutting his eyes.  He pushes is hair back with almost too much force, then raises his gaze.

"Well?" he asks. His voice is flat. "Did you get it?"

Across the table, Crowley grins. In front of him, there is a vial of blood and a lock of hair that he'd collected from the hotel room. The King of Hell runs his finger across the brown strands, teeth bared, "We got them."

. . .

"That's a demon."

Elena looks up from the clothes she's folding. She follows Dean's line of sight to the man who had just entered the laundromat, which until now was previously occupied by only her and Dean. The man is facing away from them, appearing to observe the variety of detergent for sale at the vending machine. Elena keeps her stare short.

"Are you sure?" she asks, placing the folded shirt into their bag. Fear isn't what's coiling inside her now, but protectiveness. Everything in her body is itching to kill, to prevent anyone from infecting Dean when they've worked so hard to cleanse him.

He nods. "Positive."

They look at each other for several seconds. In the back of Elena's mind she notes the clarity of his eyes. The vibrant, crystal green that always pierces right through her. It takes a split second for their thoughts to overlap and collide in the space between them.

"Do you think-?"

"No."

"But how else-?"

"I don't know," Dean says. "But Sam wouldn't do this. All I know is that Crowley has demons in every nook and cranny of this goddamn earth and he has them on the lookout. We must've stumbled onto this one's radar."

The purse of Elena's lips disagrees, but Dean pushes past it. "Wait here. I'll deal with this guy."

A firm grip on his arm stops him, pulls him back, and forces him to face a fierce set of whiskey eyes. "I'll do it."

"Elena-"

"I'll do it," she says again. 

. . .

The demon is on the ground with Elena straddling him within a minute. She'd wrapped her white dress around his throat and he thrashes around violently. Elena waits, patient. A few aisles down she hears Dean pacing. He's been back and forth thirteen times at this point.

The Mark is probably burning, she thinks as the demon continues choking.

After a few seconds she loosens the cloth. The demons gasps for air, body nearly going slack from the effort.

"Tell me how you found us," Elena says. "Unless you want to go again?"

"Crowley," he spits hoarsely. "Told . . . me . . . where . . ."

She tightens the cloth again, "How did he know?"

The demon coughs, then, much to her annoyance, begins laughing. The sound is staccato and breathless, almost funny if he weren't laughing at her.

"What are you laughing at, asshole?"

"He's gonna get you," he cackles out with a wide grin. "And he's not gonna go easy on you this time, bitch."

. . .

Crowley zaps Sam down to the tiny town of Agricola, Mississippi where an army of demons is already waiting for him. The laundromat is surrounded and his stomach churns the closer he gets to the entrance.

_This is going to hurt._

The demons flank him as he enters.

The scene inside is gruesome. Elena is slumped against the wall with weak arms struggling to hold herself up. Her eyes are hazy as vervain attacks her blood cells. Blood soaks her hands, knees, and shoes. Red streaks are splashed all over the floor. Dean is across the room, clashing with four demons as he tries to run to her.

Sam blocks Elena's face from his mind, knowing that this is the only way to get through this.But he can't avoid Dean's wild look of horror.

"No." Dean roars, first to himself then to Sam. "NO! How could you do this? I trusted you, Sam! After everything, I trusted you!"

Sam doesn't respond, but instead gestures for the demons behind him to proceed. They move to take hold of Elena, causing one of Dean's fists to go flying into the demon's face. Angry red sprays from his face.

"You stay away from her!" Dean growls through his teeth. "All of you, or I swear to whatever you believe in that I will fucking _murder_ you in the slowest, most painful way possible!"

Sam pauses to take in his brother's flushed face and furious eyes. A short-lived swell of pride hits him. Elena really did it. She forced him to care about something. It's too bad that something needs to be taken away.

Another demon goes down as Dean tries to hold onto Elena and fight them off at the same time. His eyes are wide and bloodthirsty. One of his arms is wrapped securely around Elena's waist while his other is red, Mark stark against his skin and hand clenched in a fist.

With one nod from Sam, more demons flood in. In a matter of minutes Elena is forced from Dean's grasp. Their skin slides against each other. Still avoiding her face, Sam cringes at the horrifying scrape of her heels against the tile when they drag her out the door. He smells her shampoo as she passes.

Just as they're about to take Dean too, Sam stops them. "Let me speak to him alone first."

When the door shuts behind the last demon, Sam takes a breath. "Dean-"

"Don't you talk to me," he says, lip curled in disgust. He steps forward as if to lunge at him.

"Just listen to me, Dean," Sam says holding out a hand. "I know you don't give a shit about me right now but you need to hear this or things could get much worse."

Dean stills, though the fury in his eyes never subsides.

"Crowley agreed to turn you human and lessen your debt to three months if we paid him a favor. Do you hear me? You'll be free in three months." He says. He feels Elena's name poking out behind the word 'favor' so he hurries on, "But as far as he knows, you and Elena barely know each other. She guarded the door you were kept behind and that's it. She held you hostage. The demons here don't know anything either. Do you understand me?"

 Sam can almost see the point slowly register in Dean's eyes, but he can't see much past the pure loathing directed at him.

"If you care about Elena at all," Sam goes on in a desperate whisper. "You need to keep it that way. Crowley cannot know you care about her or he will punish you both for it."

Dean, still breathing heavily, just stares at his brother with what looks like disbelief.

 _Right_ , Sam thinks. _Why should you listen to me? I'm a fucking monster_.

But then, as if fully realizing the complexity of their circumstances, Dean gives Sam one stiff, almost non-existent jerk of a nod.

The longest silence of Sam's life stretches in the space between them. The air is cold and unfamiliar, and when he looks at his brother he can't help but think about how they got this way. All Sam ever wanted to do was save him.

Dean faces Sam, chin rigid. Anxiety sets Sam's heart ablaze as he anticipates every possible statement from his mouth.

_You are a monster._

_She will never forgive you._

_I will never forgive you._

And out of pure fear of those words, Sam cuts him off, "Look, you need to know that I did it to protect her. If she has her humanity off, she can't get hurt."

One look at Dean's face tells Sam that he had just said the wrong thing. Dean's eyes burn into him like a brand, saying everything that Sam had feared.

Dean takes a step forward, causing Sam to flinch slightly, expecting a blow to the face. But instead he gets a low, simmering, three-word message delivered through clenched teeth.

"I hate you."

An unrelenting cold shivers through Sam's body as Dean holds his head high, storming out the door and into the throng of demons. And with that one look into Dean's eyes, Sam knows. He knows that he's telling the truth.

* * *

 


End file.
